


heart singing of anarchy

by sirisusblack



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, F/M, Legilimency (Harry Potter), Occlumency (Harry Potter), Post-Sirius Black in Azkaban, Sirius Black Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:55:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 81,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24701185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirisusblack/pseuds/sirisusblack
Summary: A man does not go into Azkaban and get out unscathed. Sirius Black might be physically safe in Grimmauld Place but he forgets, he teeters on the edge of something dangerous. Still, he holds on with clawing hands.And a woman does not lose everything and comes out with an easy smile.(Canon Divergence after Goblet of Fire)
Relationships: Remus Lupin/Nymphadora Tonks, Sirius Black/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 101
Kudos: 123





	1. Chapter 1

When Dora was a kid, before Hogwarts but after the war, her mum used to take her to France every month to visit Lydia. They would spend a few hours in different cities but in the end, they always ended up in the same three bedroom apartment. Her mum came by herself far more often than that. Dora didn’t really get why her mother, who easily got bored with people, would willingly spend time with a woman who barely spoke.

It was not that she disliked Lydia. She answered her endless questions, usually with one or two words. Dora could speak for hours in her company, about anything she wanted and she’d listen. Once she asked why she didn’t speak much and Lydia said, “You speak enough for both of us, that’s why”, which made her snigger. It was the longest sentence she said up until that point.

She was rich -old money, her father explained-, much like her mother’s estranged family, but she never cared when she touched her expensive stuff with her buttery fingers or broke them, which kind of became a challenge for her, to see what would make her crack. She almost set her house on fire once, but she didn’t react to that either, and at that point, she was defected, not to mention grounded.

Her mother didn’t take her to Lydia for five months, only gave in when she noticed her daughter would stare at her cousin’s face in the mirror in secret at night when she was supposed to be sleeping.

That time, their trip turned into a ceremony, with his father and mother both giving her severe warnings.

When they arrived, Lydia didn’t react to seeing her after long months, which baffled her. Dora was rarely ignored or looked over. She drew attention to herself without even trying. But when her mother left them alone to prepare tea, she lit up a stick, and inhaled it for a long moment. She eyed Dora, then demanded, “Where have you been?”

It was the first time since they’ve met that she spoke first.

“I was grounded for nearly burning down your house.”

She scrutinized her, which made her think of her dad’s wrinkly mother, who loved to stare her down every chance she got.

“Yeah, don’t do that again,” she said in the end, tapping her stick into a flower pot. She didn’t seem particularly concerned, either for the plant or her house.

“I saw these in a Muggle film,” Dora changed the subject, because even as a kid she didn’t give out promises she couldn’t keep. “Mum took me to one last week.”

“It’s called a cigarette.”

“Is it Muggle?”

“Yes.”

“Can I have one?” she asked, grabbing the pack on the table.

The bored answer came as she tried to wiggle one out. “No.”

“Why?”

“Because they’re harmful,” she said, snatching it from her hands when it became obvious she wouldn’t put it down on her own.

“Then why are you inhaling it?”

“I’m an adult, that’s why.” She pointedly took another drag.

“Do all adults do this?”

“No.”

“Then why are you?”

“It’s a habit,” she said, words coming out like a taunt.

Dora turned her nose up, not satisfied with the answer. “It smells horrible.”

“So do you.”

“I do not.”

“You tell yourself that.”

Dora narrowed her eyes when she stubbed one in the pot and lit up another, puffing out a cloud of smoke.

“Can I have one when I go to Hogwarts?”

“Sure. Try not to get caught though. You could have one now but Andy would catch me, so you can’t.”

She sniggered, “You’re not very responsible, are you?”

“I don’t have to be,” she rolled her eyes.

“Why? Is it because you’re rich?”

She huffed a laugh, like her mum, and Dora nearly wet herself with excitement. “No, because I was smart enough not to have a kid.”

“Your kids would’ve been ugly anyway.”

“Your mum’s pretty but she had you.”

“I can be the prettiest person if I want to be. I’m a metamorphmagus.”

“Yeah? Show me.”

She changed her face but Lydia’s face didn’t light up with wonder like other people’s.

“That’s me,” she said matter-of-factly, looking away in boredom.

Dora tilted her head to peek into the mirror, and sighed a breath of relief when she saw it had nothing to do with Lydia.

Then she looked over at the woman watching her distress with amusement, and she shrieked, throwing herself onto her.

The cigarette fell on the carpet.

Lydia laughed and laughed and laughed.

She nearly burned the house down, again, but she was not grounded.

Lydia didn’t smoke when she was in the room again until she turned seventeen.

****

Stepping into Lydia’s house always leaves a bitter taste in Dora’s mouth. Now, nearly fifteen years later, it’s still hard not to see that woman whenever she looks at her.

She joins Lydia on the balcony. She doesn’t acknowledge her but it doesn’t bother Dora, she’s grown used to it over the years. She knows by now that it’s better to keep quiet until she finishes thinking whatever she’s thinking about, though she has some ideas what’s it about..

She’s still in her nightgown, without any glamour or any make up on. It allows for miniscule crow’s feet to show in the corners of her eyes, and the purple veins to stand out under her pale skin. It bothers her, the way she hides her age.

Dora settles down across her, gathering the plate waiting for her. It’s a simple omelette but it’s there, despite her looking like a ghost, with a cup of black coffee.

It makes her feel like a monster for keeping things from her.

Lydia is dragging her thumb over her ring finger over and over -as if she’s used to having a ring there- something Dora picked up on more than a decade ago.

Dora drops her fork and she swears under her breath, bending down to pick it up. Lydia winces at the sound and her eyes turn towards Dora, setting something on the table she hasn’t noticed until now. Dora steals a quick glance –a photo- and a lump forms in her throat with an uncomfortable swirling sensation in her stomach at the sight of her mournful eyes, always glistening like she’s one second away from collapsing into the ground and sobbing.

She clears her throat and jerks her chin at the photo. Lydia ignores the unasked question and takes a sip from her cup.

“What’s the occasion?” Dora asks with her mouth half full, mostly to annoy her until she snaps out of her mood. She’s so prickly when it comes to table manners. Lydia gives her a long suffering look and smacks a hand over the photo.

“Yesterday was the day Barty got caught,” she says crisply, her mouth stretching into a grimace. She picks up her fork, pushing her eggs around a bit with a thoughtful expression on her face, as Dora’s unease reaches a new peak.

Lydia opens her mouth like she wants to say something but her face closes off just as it came.

Dora doesn’t think she’s the only one keeping secrets and it unnerves her. Lydia has never been an exceptional conversationalist, she’s never been to initiate hard discussions but she never dodges questions.

She’s brutally honest when she’s asked a question.

“How’s Sirius?” she asks instead.

Drunk, she thinks but holds her tongue. You’ll be seeing him now, she thinks next and shoves bread in her mouth to refrain from blabbing.

“Miserable,” she croaks out around the dry bread, taking a big sip from her coffee to dislodge it from her throat.

Lydia waves her wand towards her, and it swiftly goes down to her stomach.

“Of course he is,” she snaps, her fork clattering in her plate, “he hates that house.”

Dora hesitates, because it is classified information but it’s also so obvious that denying it would be insulting her intelligence.

Lydia spots her dilemma and rolls her eyes, “Don’t hurt yourself. I understand you can’t tell me about it.”

Dora desperately hopes she’ll be this understanding when she finds out how much stuff there are she couldn’t talk about.

“I should go get changed while you eat,” she sighs, her eyes unfocused like there are million things running around in her head.

“Alright,” she replies mildly.

When she’s sure that she’s gone, she grabs the picture from where she’s left it.

She examines the picture carefully. She’s pretty sure she hasn’t seen this one before. It’s a Muggle photograph, with 1980 scribbled on the bottom corner in a handwriting she does not recognise. In it, a very young Sirius is glaring at the camera, healthy and handsome, with his arm hugging Lydia’s bare leg. She is grinning at the camera, with a bottle of Muggle beer halfway to her mouth.

She can guess who’s taken the photo.

She puts it back, her heart picking up a slightly dangerous pace and chews her food, still warm from Lydia’s Statis Charm. She pushes the anxiety and the doubt to the back of her head, resigned to her fate of being cut to pieces and probably being ignored for a whole year.

****

Sirius tips the bottle to the empty glass despite knowing, to his very core, that he was pushing it. He shouldn’t. But he will, just to prove a point. To whom, he doesn’t know.

The problem lays with the goddamn bottle. It’s empty. He’s half sure this is the same spell Remus used to use when they were in Hogwarts. For some reason, the bottles seemed to last longer when Remus wasn’t around.

Remus isn’t fond of drunk Sirius.

He could go downstairs and fetch another bottle if Remus is not around but he will notice anyway. Sirius knows he counts. He doesn’t want to risk running into Tonks either, who’ll definitely snitch.

He expected to get along better with Andy’s daughter, especially considering he’d liked the kid before Azkaban. He has enough insight to accept it’s only him who is reacting poorly to her cheerful attitude. Remus and Tonks get along, much to his annoyance.

Though he is glad -selfish, ungrateful- that Tonks keeps Remus busy enough that he doesn’t pester him during his free time.

He rubs his arm, numb and vaguely throbbing. He recalls someone talking about how your arm might hurt if there was a problem with the heart, barely more than a hazy memory, without proper characters or a setting.

Witches and wizards rarely suffer from Muggle diseases but it happens occasionally, even though most purebloods he knew would die before they saw a Muggle Healer.

It would give immense satisfaction to some people if he died of a Muggle disease.

Lily once told him elephants die of broken hearts.

How does a heart break anyway?

He groans, doubling down with a sharp intake of breath when the sunlight escapes through the heavy velvet curtains. Only redeemable part of living in this house, he thinks, is that his ancestors’ love for Dark isn’t just metaphorical. It still feels like daggers digging into his brain, after years of living in near absolute darkness.

He’ll get that fucking bottle. Remus or no Remus. If he’s imprisoned here, then he refuses to do it sober.

He tries to get up but the floor is further than he thinks it is, and he lurches before his hands land on the dusty side table.

Kreacher always leaves some place dirty, and preferably somewhere he’ll have to touch.

He blinks, and his loyal companion’s, Elizabeth’s, face clears. He mutters a greeting to her and waits for her to reply in kind for one long moment.

She doesn’t, but Sirius thinks her smile looks more affectionate than seductive today. At least she’s not going to tattle. Which is more than he can say for other portraits in the house. He likes his Muggle photos.

With Harry gone back to Hogwarts, Remus and him are left as the only inhabitants of this bloody house once again, other than some order members coming in and out. Sirius pretends to be oblivious that it is more to check up on him (on his behaviour, not his mood), than any relevant Order business.

It doesn’t sting anymore. Hard to care when you can’t tell Remus and Tonks apart. 

He opens the door without any difficulty but his anxiety skyrockets when a variety of voices reach him.

It is a Saturday.

Orderday, as he likes to call it in the privacy of his mind.

Realisation hits like a slap in the face. He lets the shame sit heavy in his stomach before he slams the door behind him and runs to rummage through his bathroom cabinet for a Sobering Potion with trembling hands.

He can’t find it. Terror seizes his insides, his head buzzing and he reminds himself it is not the time to have a panic attack.

Orderday is the day he keeps it together.

These feelings are familiar. The sweating, the tremors, the nausea. He knows how to deal with this. This isn’t any worse than the Dementors. This isn’t worse than Harry in the Triwizard Tournament. This is definitely not worse than Harry in a fucking Death Eater’s clutches.

It could be, a treacherous voice reminds him.

But it isn’t, he insists. It can’t be.

He slowly places potions on the sink, one by one, until he finds the familiar green bottle. He sniffs to be sure, gagging immediately as the heavy smell hits him and makes him wobble. He throws it back and as soon as he swallows the oily liquid, his head clears and words align instead of just filling his head.

He brushes his teeth, and cringes as his eyes roam over his face in the mirror. Years haven’t been kind to him while in Azkaban, but there hasn’t been any improvement since then either. He looks just as old as Remus.

He heaves a silent sigh as he starts the water and strips. He’d rather just crawl back to his bed but he can’t go down smelling of sweat, whiskey and stale cigarettes. He’d rather be late than stinky.

He puts this remark aside to use on Snape if he comments on his tardiness.

****

Hushed, urgent tones. He can separate Tonks’ and Molly’s voices over others, owing to their tendency to speak in higher tones when they’re stressed. They’re arguing, possibly about him.

He hopes Remus set something aside for him to eat to get through the morning at least and he is suddenly disgusted with his own hypocrisy, remembering what he thought of his friend just fifteen minutes ago.

It is hard to be fond of drunk Sirius even if it’s in his own head.

Remus is visible through the kitchen door, and he gives Sirius a tentative smile and an awkward wave, which he returns with a raised eyebrow.

“Hello Remus,” he greets.

Before Remus can reply Moody appears and motions him in. “We’ve got a guest,” he says, careful eye, eyes, on him. Which isn’t unusual in itself but there is also a warning underneath, and he nods curtly. He doesn’t even have the energy to snap at Snape, let alone argue with a guest.

“Alright,” he drawls and pushes Remus aside to peek inside, his steps faltering as he takes the scene in.

His breath hitches, and he stares at the woman watching the empty street from the windows. His head whips back to look at Remus, who shrugs helplessly, looking vaguely apologetic and defiant at the same time.

She turns slowly at the sound of his steps, the move so familiar and strange at the same time. The way she holds herself is so odd, yet it’s the only thing that makes sense.

Arms crossed in front of her chest, fingers splayed on her opposite arms. Is she hugging herself? Her eyes fixated on the floor. Like he is not worth her eyes on him.

He keeps his mouth shut, bites on his tongue, so he can’t say anything, can’t say her name, can’t breath loudly. He is hyperventilating, he hears, air leaving and entering through his nose so noisily. Everyone can hear.

“Rosier came here to assist us with the possible safe houses the Death Eaters are using,” Moody says, seemingly oblivious to the tension.

That gets everyone to move, except Sirius. She lifts her eyes to send a scathing glare at Moody, which he ignores as he fills his cup with tea.

Ignores her, he muses. How does one do that?

Remus is still watching him warily, ready to intervene any second. He tears his eyes away from her, searching everyone’s faces, blood rushing to his head, to his ears. They seem to be so far away, a little blurred around the edges. Molly and Arthur Weasley’s mouths move but it’s slower than it should be. Tonks, Shacklebolt. Fucking Snape, looking disinterested in his misery. That can’t be good, he thinks but can’t recall why it matters.

He takes the closest chair, mindlessly taking the cup Remus offers. He feels the liquid spill over his fingers, then Remus’ fingers are on his hands again.

One of her hands drops, landing in her abdomen as though she has a bellyache.

Does her belly ache when she’s nervous? Is she nervous?

He can’t remember. Azkaban made him forget a lot of things.

She refuses the scone Molly offers with a poor imitation of a smile. She doesn’t meet Molly’s eyes either.

Does the thought of eating make her sick?

Did she forget how to smile?

Muggle clothes. That, he remembers.

Tight jeans and high heels.

Oh. He could lean down a bit, and she could tilt her head back, baring her neck and their lips would meet. She wouldn’t even have to stand on her tiptoes. Would she look into his eyes then?

Her feet carry her to a chair. The plush carpet is muddy brown, instead of beige as it was once, and hideous. He hates it immediately. Her heels don’t make a sound. For a second he imagines her examining her shoes after and having to clean them. His heart flutters anxiously, his face flaming with the thought.

He’s going to kill Kreacher. After he makes him throw this away. Is she going to be here to walk on it?

She looks so vibrant in the room, like a painting. Like they’ve arranged all the lights to fall on her. He can’t be sure if this is real.

She crosses her legs. Right leg above left. She used to keep the left leg up top.

Or was it the right one?

Her feet stand stiff in the air, jerking in barely there movements as if she was tapping the floor. He could see a light blue vein at the top.

“Sirius, soup?” Molly asks.

He nods.

Ripped jeans. Her hands clasp over her naked right knee. Skin to skin. No rings. He wants to laugh in delight, to shriek, throw the ring dangling from his neck at her face.

She looks so poised. Like a real pure blood.

Except the clothes. Showing too much skin, too much of her curves to be a proper pure blood. Loose, thin white shirt, with too many buttons open, swell of her breast peeking with each breath she takes. That wasn’t new. She’d always been a fucking tease.

Head facing down the right corner, away from him. Arms stuck to her sides, shoulders tense but she’s not moving, not a flicker.

Red lips. Darker than blood. Thinner.

No no no.

Grimacing. Uncomfortable.

Lips parting slightly, but they’re too dry, and they stick together at the left corner before her tongue peeks out to fix it.

Her eyes, refusing to meet his. He can’t remember their colour. Why didn’t he pay attention when she looked at Moody?

Was it blue?

But no, it doesn’t sit right.

Brown? Like milky chocolate?

He can’t remember how he felt about her eyes. Did they make him warm or excited? Can’t remember if she liked his eyes and he craves for her to look at him so he can relearn and never forget it again.

He’ll never forget it. He’ll carry it to the grave.

A heartbeat.

There it is.

They’re hazel.

They’re gold and bright and they roam over his face, up and down, left and right, like she can’t decide where she wants them to land.

Her pinky finger flexes.


	2. Chapter 2

“As entertaining as this is,” Snape’s drawling voice cuts through the air, “I think we’ve had enough theatricals for this morning.”

Sirius’ cheeks colour as all eyes turn to him, his hand almost flying to his pocket for his wand to hex the slimy git, but Remus is right beside him with a firm hand on his elbow.

Snape’s mouth stretches into a parody of a smile. Sirius is about to suggest him not to smile, ever, if he doesn’t want to scare a kid into shitting their pants but that sounds exactly like something he’d enjoy. He’s still tempted to say it just for the hell of it when he adds, “Though I admit the old lovers angle spices things a bit.”

His whole body tenses, and in his periphery he sees her calmly turning her gaze to Snape without moving her body. He can’t remember if Snape and her got on well –not likely, it’s almost a deal breaker- or if she’s going to tear him a new one.

“What would you know about old lovers?” she snaps with an eye roll. Fucking hell, that’s her voice, and this tone, it’s the one you hear it when you’re walking on a fine line.

A thrill courses through his body as the corner of her upper lip lifts in a perfect sneer.

“What would you know about except old lovers?” he shots back with a self satisfied smirk and he can sense he’s hinting at something here, and he doesn’t like it, doesn’t like where this is going, he doesn’t want to fucking hear about her men, about the guys she left behind and the ones that she still allows to be around her.

But it doesn’t have the effect Snape was going for, instead her eyes close lazily in satisfaction, her head rolling on her neck like a ragdoll. Almost as if she’d been waiting for this moment all along. Her face splits with a grin that only moves her lips, and he can see the malicious glee in her eyes just before she says, honey sweet, “But you begged me to come.”

“Enough,” Moody bellows and she holds Snape’s gaze smugly, head bent backwards, baring her neck and mouth slightly open, ready to defend and attack. He sees Snape release a breath through his ugly nose and oh, she laughs quietly but sharply at that, openly taunting him with an angelic smile when he snaps his eyes back at her.

“Rosier,” Moody hisses and her mood suddenly changes, like she gained all she could from this. She sits up tall and untangles her fingers to drum her on the table. They’re emerald green, and he doesn’t know if he likes that colour on her. She stops when she realises he’s staring but doesn’t take them back onto her lap.

“I don’t know what you expect from me,” she says evenly. “All family estates are bound to me or my brother, and we’ve checked every single one of them. Twice.”

Moody hums, his fake eye fixated on her. She doesn’t seem nervous under Moody’s scrutiny but he can see she’s getting upset with this conversation.

“Unless you’re worried that me or my brother are lying and providing someone refuge.”

“Constant vigilance, Rosier,” he says neutrally. Everyone snaps to attention, no one daring to fidget.

Sirius’ heart thumps in his chest, looking for signs on her face, pressing down his urge to throw a tantrum at the mention of him.

Her expression doesn’t waver but her leg dangles once.

She hums, looking thoughtful, like she’s been asked whether she’d like beef or chicken for dinner. “I don’t understand what you mean,” she says slowly with a confused frown, like she’s trying out the words. It brings out the accent that used to embarrass her during their first years at Hogwarts.

“I’m talking about Barty Crouch Jr,” Moody says, as blunt as he always is, and that ugly creature surfaces, banging fists on his sternum. He wants to end this conversation at once and forget that he ever existed but she looks like she’s remembering something and he has to know what it is, does she already know where he is, did she help the bastard, does she still talk to him, does she--

“I’m tired of being accused of helping him when all there is to the story is that you lot are all useless,” she says almost in a whisper, head tilted to the side with a saccharine smile.

He wants her to whisper in his ears.

She did that a lot once. Her warm breath on his ear, chattering on about something inappropriate while she sat primly, while he squirmed not to laugh at her weird, but usually mean observations.

He shakes his head to clear his thoughts, and Moony’s hand tightens again, mistaking his distraction for something else.

She exhales, her lips pressed together. She’s blinking too fast to be casual –Sirius can bet his left arm she’s on the brink of tears. “Am I suspect now, then? Am I even allowed to leave?”

“You can leave any time you want, Lydia,”

Dumbledore’s voice startles them all –his steps are too light compared to his size- and everyone in the room jerks, all heads turning to stare at him. The old man smiles at their ‘guest’. “The situation seems to have gotten out of hand.”

“Just a bit,” she mutters as she sits back. “This feels like a form of public shaming.” She waves vaguely around the room, her voice tired like these all took so much energy from her.

Dumbledore walks up to her, his robes sweeping the floor. He pulls the chair next to her and sits swiftly.

Sirius has always wondered if his joints ache. His joints are already ruined, a constant reminder of things he’s lost and missed.

Dumbledore pops a grape into his mouth, his piercing gaze searching everyone one by one. Lydia suddenly looks disinterested and sulky, back to gazing at the floor.

“Why am I here?”

Dumbledore regards her instead of answering. Not suspiciously like she would’ve suggested but sympathetically, like you would when you’re about to land a blow below the belt. He holds his breath, she looks so unconcerned.

She has no idea.

It’s going to catch her with surprise.

“We’ve got Mr. Crouch in one of our safe houses,” he says neutrally, and she freezes for a second before she gasps. Her hand grasps at her neck like she’s trying to dislodge some invisible hands throttling her.

Her mouth opens and closes a few times before she speaks, eyes wide, “Alive?”

“Alive and well, Ms. Rosier,” Dumbledore affirms and her face slackens with relief, and she smiles, genuine and her face loses all of its hard angles. She presses the back of her hand to her lips as if to hide her smile and it comes off with the stain of her lipstick.

“I don’t get it,” she says, shaking her head, trying to make sense of it. Her eyes narrow at the headmaster, “I thought he got kissed.”

Room falls deadly silent but she just rolls her eyes like she didn’t confess to knowing Barty Crouch Jr had been the one to infiltrate Hogwarts. He feels panic rise inside him, the potion and alcohol mixing dangerously in his stomach. He tastes acid in the back of his throat and takes a big swallow from the tea on the table, the sound loud in the abnormally silent room.

“I wasn’t aware you knew about his situation,” Dumbledore says coldly, straightening up, putting some space between them.

Sirius can’t make sense of this open hostility.

If they’d ask him, he’d say she probably knew. She had always known what he was up to.

But why would they ask him? Many others in this room are closer to her than he is.

Lydia seems unbothered, appearing amused more than anything else. “Was I not supposed to?” she asks, tucking her head into her shoulder.

She’s making fun of them.

“The information was extremely classified, yes,” Dumbledore’s voice still carries a steely edge but he can see the curiosity getting the better of him.

Her eyes briefly go up to steal a glance, then she huffs. “Elves are terrible gossips,” she says dismissively, which doesn’t make sense at all but at that Dumbledore’s features shift into something much friendlier.

She doesn’t elaborate and he doesn’t press.

A quick look around the room tells him not everyone is satisfied with that answer, their gazes sharp with suspicion. He scoffs to himself. Now that’s something he’s familiar with.

Her head twitches at the sound, her shoulders stiffening and she shoots an unreadable look at him. A few seconds pass before it dawns on him.

She thought he was laughing at her.

He might have smacked himself if Snape wasn’t there.

“He is as close to the Dark Lord as they get,” Moody intervenes, like he wants to end a fight before it can start. Quite unnecessary, in his opinion.

She would not stoop so low to argue with Sirius in front of people. Never has. Not in front of people she doesn’t like.

She starts drawing circles on the table instead, pensive and distracted. “A bit childish, isn’t it?” she mumbles.

“What is, Rosier?” Moody gives in to silence when she doesn’t continue, his tone long suffering.

“The Dark Lord,” she says, rolling the words around her tongue, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Snape’s fingers twitch at his sides like he wants to reach to his wand, but Dumbledore smiles indulgently. He, on the other hand, wants to laugh, because it is a dimwit name

“I think he’s rather keen on it.” When no one further comments Dumbledore leans in, “We’d like you to have a talk with him,” he says, affirming his biggest fear.

Lydia finally turns her gaze up and stares at the man incredulously. After a few moments she exclaims, “Are you off your rocker?”

Tonks is the first one to react, much to his surprise, “Lydia!”

“Shut up!” comes just as quickly and it finally occurs to him that someone must’ve reached to her, someone she trusted to bring her here. It’s definitely not Snape who knew her home, even if he had to talk to her.

Dumbledore raises his hand and they both shut their mouths with audible clicks. Lydia shakes her head, her eyes sweeping the room suspiciously.

“If you couldn’t extract information, how am I going to help?” she asks sceptically, all of her good humour erased.

“I believe he’d be ecstatic to see you,” Dumbledore insists gently. “He talks a lot about you whenever we try to get him to talk.”

And they’re about to drop her in front of him like bait? He turns to Remus indignantly, who ignores him balking, his eyes fixed on Lydia.

“I highly doubt that, Professor,” she snorts, with a hysterical edge to her voice. She blinks a few times before she says in one breath, “Doesn’t that ring some alarm bells?”

He probably thinks Lydia will help her out, or that he can draw her to his side, Sirius thinks sourly and grimaces. He can’t be certain that she won’t.

Headmaster smiles knowingly and presses, “I think he just wants to see a friendly face.”

Lydia’s eyebrows arch. She folds her arms in front of her chest, pushing her breasts together. He focuses his gaze back on her face immediately. “Yeah, you’re more hopeless than I give you credit for if you believe he just misses me.” Then she laughs, harsh and apathetic. After a pause she asks, “How did his father die anyway?”

Dumbledore peeks at her above his glasses pointedly and Lydia’s face lightens up with glee, and she laughs, and slaps a hand over her mouth like she didn’t mean it to slip out. “Sorry but he had it coming.”

Sirius can’t even blame the guy for that.

“You would’ve made the perfect Death Eater,” Snape says flatly. Tonks throws her hands in the air in exasperation.

Lydia scoffs, nonchalant, “Better than you, if this double agent thing is to be believed,” she says, waving her wand around Snape’s torso.

He flinches, sympathising with Snape for a moment. She’s always been too ready to draw a wand whenever she got annoyed, conjuring it out of nowhere. He didn’t even notice her move and he has hardly taken his eyes off her since he first set his eyes on her.

Snape visibly jolts but he refrains from reaching out to his wand. She holds her wand limp in her hand, but her eyes are sharp and unblinking.

His eyes flash as his eyes sweep over her from head to toe in open distaste. She doesn’t seem particularly bothered with Snape’s expression.

“A family legacy, I presume, with generations of faithful servants.”

She throws her head back for a terse laugh. “Bold words for someone who’s branded like a common cattle,” she says pointing to his left arm with her wand.

Molly moves between them, and shoves Snape away to grab Lydia by her shoulders quite forcefully. “Tea, Lydia?”

Lydia shakes her head, “Coffee,” she declares, tapping her wand on the table. “Looks like I’m about to be blackmailed. Might as well enjoy a cup on the way.”

“No one’s going to blackmail you,” Moody snaps and at that, her face closes off completely. Only her eyes betray how furious she is when she locks eyes with Moody.

“You said that the last time.”

The last time? Bloody hell.

“I think we were both disappointed with each other on that one.”

“It’s not my fault you can’t seem to get your hands on him,” she remarks, the taunt evident, “I honestly can’t wrap my head around how he tricked all of you for a whole year. Are you going to blame that one on me too?”

“He is dangerous,” Kingsley interrupts and she nods in agreement, “Kill him off then,” she suggests, bored.

Easy to say when she knows no one will do that.

“You know we can’t do that.” Kingsley says straight away, proving him right.

“This is where your problem lies,” she stands her ground, “if you can’t get anything out of him, then you need to get rid of him. It’s not like the Dark Lord is going to come for his rescue and you’ll ambush him.”

“That’s against everything we believe in,” Dumbledore says, eyes trained on her relaxed form, “if we do that, we’re not different from Voldemort.”

Sirius would like to disagree.

“Are you any different than him now?” Lydia asks dubiously. “Inaction is just as harmful sometimes.”

That’s so fucking rich, coming from you, he thinks sourly.

“I believe you wouldn’t be able to say these things to Lord Voldemort, the difference lays there,” Dumbledore says, chillingly cool and distant.

“Why would I ever be in his presence?” she hisses, and her cheeks flush, trailing down to her neck, “I’m only here because Dora asked me nicely, which I regretted the second I set a foot in this place.”

He doesn’t blame her. No one in their right mind would come here willingly. “Do you think Barty will knock on my door and ask me to have a chat with his Lord?”

“I object to being compared to him,” Tonks pipes up which Lydia ignores.

“I believe you’ve been asked before by others.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Lydia scoffs, instantly dismissing the accusation. “Can we stop this? I haven’t seen him in almost fifteen years and you’re talking like we just came back from a cruise together!” her voice raises with each word, clearly frustrated with the onslaught she’s facing.

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, and addresses Moody. “Look, if you really want it, I’ll talk to him. I don’t see how that’ll help, but fine.”

“That’s settled then,” Dumbledore claps his hands together. Lydia ignores him completely, and thanks Molly for the coffee.

“You’ll discuss the details with Ms. Rosier, I believe, Alastor?” he says as he stands up and fixes his robes. He nods vaguely before he leaves the room even quicker than he came.

Lydia is straight up pouting now. Her eyes settle on him as she rests her chin in her palm and he forbids himself from blinking lest she takes her gaze away in that moment.

She looks neutral enough despite the furrow between brows as her eyes scan his face. He tries to smile but her face doesn’t change when he attempts, which makes him feel like an idiot and he drops it.

She’s the one to break it, as Tonks sits beside her and elbows her gently.

It feels like he lost something before he could even hold it.

****

A pointy elbow sinks into her side painfully, making her tear her gaze away from Sirius. She shies away from Dora, rubbing to ease the pain.

He looks miserable. Worse than the photos in newspapers.

“Dora,” she says through her teeth, with barely contained horror and embarrassment. She is enraged but she holds herself in check because Severus bloody Snape is watching her with narrowed eyes. Ugly bastard. “You’re lucky we’re in public or you’d be dead.”

She laughs.

“You wouldn’t have come otherwise.”

“Bloody well true,” she whisper-shouts as she pokes her with her wand, “you brought me here all places! I thought we were going to meet at Hogwarts or something.”

She checks around to see if anyone’s paying attention to their conversation on instinct. She bares her teeth at Snapei who’s blatantly eavesdropping but ignores Sirius, who’s still staring at her with burning eyes like he’s been doing since his eyes landed on her.

Talk about making someone nervous. She can’t decide which one is more distressing.

“Why didn’t you tell me about Barty?”

Dora looks at her without a trace of smile and it changes her face into something else entirely. Lydia doesn’t know if she suspects her too. “Classified information.”

There’s nothing much she could say to that, so she drops the subject, though it stings a bit to be left in the dark.

“How did you know?” Dora asks with raised brows.

“That house elf,” she answers tartly, “the one Senior fired.”

Dora makes a sound of understanding and pats her shoulder. “You could’ve just said that instead of making people come up to conclusions,” she whispers, leaning into her ear.

She bites into her cheek, and pokes her again. “We’ll talk about this. I demand proper explanations. Be at my house at eight today.”

“I can’t, I have a date.”

“Not anymore,” she snaps, then adds, “I’ll be cooking.” She doesn’t know if she says it as a threat or peace offering.

“That relieves me actually,” Dora winks and pecks her cheek. “Can I bring a guest?”

“Remus?” she asks, as she takes a sip from the horrible coffee like she’s bored with their conversation but inside she’s cackling despite the situation she found herself in. Dora’s face flushes at the mention of his name but she mostly maintains her dignity –shocking- and replies, “If I can persuade him, yes.”

“Fine but I won’t hold back just because he’s there,” she warns as she stands up and pours the rest of her coffee into the sink. Mrs. Weasley clicks her tongue and snatches it from her hands, shoving her off with her hips. She holds her hands up in mock surrender, amused at the older woman.

Her eyes meet Sirius’ over Snape’s head before she tries to pass by him without touching. He doesn’t move his chair up, so she wrinkles her nose deliberately like she smells something foul, making sure Snape notices it.

No one accused her of being mature, merely aiding and abetting Death Eaters.

She had guessed he was staying here, when Dora told her he was somewhere safe but was unable to leave. She didn’t dare ask to be brought here because how do you ask someone to take you to a safe-house, just to visit someone? She asked after him frequently, and hoped that she would be insightful enough to make a way of communication between them. She’d thought she’d offer to carry letters, not bring her to Grimmauld Place, only to pressure her into talking to -interrogating- a Death Eater.

Her first reaction, which has been pure joy, had left her body cold once she understood the gravity of the situation and now, all she can feel is pure terror.

She retrieves her winter cloak from the windowsill without engaging anyone else. She tries not to scowl when it comes up dusty. She pats a few times, feeling her mouth tighten into a thin line when it doesn’t help. At this point, she’ll have to bleach all of her clothes and herself if she wants to get rid of the grime of this creepy house. Her eyes meet Sirius’ once again as she puts it on, the intensity of it making her pause with only one of her arms in her cloak.

Azkaban does not do anyone favours, obviously, but she had never realised how much it affected people until then. She suppresses the guilt as it comes, always there to make appearance at the worst moment possible.

Barty will be just as bad, if not worse.

Nothing you could’ve done, she repeats.

She wants to scream at them, throw a tantrum so she doesn’t have to have a chat with Barty.

_Bartemius Crouch Sr, leaning well into her personal space, expectant and his breath stinking of stale coffee. Desperate._

_“I don’t know,” she stresses again, as she hastily wipes her eyes with her wrist. The same question, packaged differently but the same nevertheless. Auror Moody rubs the bridge of his nose, but he’s only left with half it and their eyes meet above Crouch._

_Crouch’s eyes flash with barely constrained loathing when she looks back at him and she wants him to stop, to just take out his wand and put a Crucio on her so she could leave and sleep._

He hasn’t been kissed by Dementors, which is good. The thought makes her sick to her stomach, thinking about him like an empty shell. She doesn’t want that to happen to him, no matter what he’s become. It’s undignified and cruel.

But she would’ve been more relieved if he was actually dead and six feet under.

“Be careful of the portrait in the hall,” Dora calls out to her and she salutes Lydia mockingly. Lydia murmurs a goodbye that no one hears and nods at Moody. He’ll have to come to her and she’s planning on making it harder for him.

She decides it’s much preferable to come back to talk with Sirius when they can be alone. She’s out of the room without tripping over the grisly carpet, taking a proper breath for the first time since she set foot into the house and she sneezes when the dust tickles her nose. She looks around to find an exit before she wakes up anyone but she’s already caught the attention of the said portrait.

The portrait is of late Mrs. Black’s, she realises and Sirius’ mother opens her mouth to let out a piercing scream, just like she was warned. She braces herself, ready to cast a silencing charm but the woman stops mid breath. Her eyes take in the person before her, then the breath leaves her lungs in a rush and she whispers, “Lydia?”

She’s torn between crying out of amusement and frustration. Mrs. Black adored her, much to Sirius’ scorn. It ate him alive to be with a girl his mother liked. “Good morning, Mrs. Black.”

“Oh dear,” Walburga swats in the air, her voice turning pleasant and playful, “of course it is. It’s been such a long time since I saw a reputable someone here.” She sniffs and looks at her sideways.

Lydia lets her get away with the comment, because she refuses to argue with a portrait, a charitable smile on her face, “I’ve been trying,” she winks, not taking her bait but indulging her. She bets Walburga is just dying for gossip. She’ll get to that later.

“You look dashing,” she croons, accepting her reluctance to talk shit about people and changes the subject. For now, she knows. Not very subtle, but neither is her son.

Lydia laughs lightly, thinking about the clothes under her robes.

“Paris,” she says mysteriously, an outright lie but she doesn’t have to know it. She’ll gladly give her something to speculate on her free time. She watches as Walburga’s face light up with interest, then her eyes gleam shrewdly.

“What brings you here?”

She hums and waits a tad longer than necessary until Walburga can’t take it and she grips the edge of her portrait. “About the estates,” Lydia says vaguely in the end, rolling her eyes for the audience’s sake.

Walburga’s face relaxes and she nods in sympathy. She doesn’t even know if she actually falls for her stories. Sirius’ life would’ve been much easier if he followed her cues to handle her tactfully.

“Lydia?”

She jumps in surprise. She turns back to lock gazes with Remus, and the accidental connection makes her itch instantly. Her earlier unease hits her with full force when she spots Sirius next to her. She clears her throat and she tilts her head back to warn them of the portrait.

Walburga eyes the duo with open contempt but feigns a pleasant smile when she realises Lydia is watching her.

“Duty calls,” she shrugs apologetically and ignores the burning gaze on her face.

“Of course dear,” she allows, nose slightly turned upwards as she yawns. “Close my curtains, will you?”

Lydia obliges enthusiastically, and exhales silently when it’s shut properly. An uncomfortable silence falls between them and she shifts to face them, but she can’t make herself look at their faces for the life of her despite feeling both of their gazes on her.

“I will be going,” she says awkwardly, gesturing vaguely, then realising she is gesturing towards the stairs. She doesn’t have time to be horrified about it because Remus laughs without any malice and she shrugs helplessly at the sound.

She still can’t look.

“Are you in a hurry?”

“What,” she says, like an exceptionally stupid troll, “no?” She forces herself to look at his face -she knows she’s being rude- and relaxes minimally when she spots his kind smile. Her eyes snap back to the floor.

“Then you wouldn’t mind staying for tea? We’d chat and I have some artefacts for you to examine.”

“Sure,” she says in a steady voice. Artefacts. That she can do. It might be marginally better than going back to her house and driving herself mad with Barty and Sirius and Barty and…

“Is Snape gone?” she asks after a pause. Remus nods and gives her a tired smile of someone who’s long used to hearing that.

They stand there awkwardly, three grown people, still inept at handling uncomfortable moments gracefully. Remus moves first and walks back inside, leaving them alone for the first time in fifteen years.

They stand there, shuffling their feet and staring at opposite directions stubbornly.

She can tell Sirius wants to say something before they go in, so she waits but the longer it takes, the more she wants the earth to swallow her whole. She desperately needs him to break this silence because she doesn’t think she can be the one to take the first step.

Her head throbs painfully, and she wonders if he can see she’s quivering.

“Hello,” he says finally, pretty much a whisper. He sounds so uncertain and terrified that she almost laughs at the irony. But she doesn’t know if he’ll think she’s laughing at him, instead of the situation. She’s not going to risk it now.

That’s what has become of them. Walking on eggshells. Could’ve been worse, she thinks but can’t actually imagine how.

“Hello Sirius,” she replies, and her voice is softer than she intends.

“It’s good to…” he swallows like his mouth dried out, “good to see you here.”

She can’t help herself and chuckles, eyes flicking up to check for his reaction. He looks sheepish but he’s smiling.

“Really?” she prompts, feeling a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“Well, not here, specifically,” he backtracks, his smile widening into a crooked grin, “but it’s not like…” he stops himself in mid sentence, and she arches her eyebrows, a bit daringly.

He seems to deflate suddenly, his shoulders hunch and suddenly he looks like he lost ten pounds.

“It’s okay,” she assures him, the sight of him making her stomach tighten. “I know. You don’t need to explain.”

“Did the others fill you in,” he says coolly, and she just knows she won’t like the next words, from the sneer on his mouth, “or is it elves again?”

She grinds her teeth, suddenly thrown back fifteen years into the past with a few words. She hasn’t forgotten any of it, hardly in her nature to throw away the old resentments and hurt. She’d always been a hoarder. Pack things neatly into boxes and store them in the cellar to sort through once in a year type.

She promised herself she’d try to be nice to him when their paths crossed again but he always makes it so fucking hard, doesn’t he?

“What do you want to hear?” she deadpans.

He straightens, and she waits for the apology that won’t come.

“Right,” he says, but mostly to himself. So predictable. Taking on the role of a stranger the second he feels uncomfortable. “Shall we go?” he says, with such forced politeness that she barely stops herself before grabbing his arm to shake him until his teeth fall off with the force of it.

She follows him inside without another word and sits down on the sofa next to Remus. She tries not to examine the room, because then they’ll be able to tell her distaste and she doesn’t want to look pompous of all things.

They all stare into the table, all fiddling with their hands like school children waiting to be punished.

She notices a chain around Sirius’ neck, peeking from his open collar and she steals a few quick glances at the tattoos to detect anything she hasn’t seen before despite the remaining anger.

Dora saves them from a painful, silent death and sits on the arm of her chair. She puts a hand on her shoulder and squeezes gently. “Remus, do you have the stuff you were going to show her? I don’t really fancy carrying them around.”

“Better if you don’t,” she murmurs to Dora, who shrugs unabashedly.

She resists the compulsion to look at Sirius, who is listening to their talk with terrifying stillness. Remus gets up to grab an ancient bag from the corner of the room, sharing a look with Dora over her head. She pretends she doesn’t notice.

“Hey, Lydia, you know Sirius, eh?” she asks, leaning down with a huge shit eating grin on her face.

“Obviously,” she grits out and Sirius shakes his head incredulously at her tactlessness.

She hums, enjoying herself too much for them to be safe. “Heard you were engaged at some point.”

Lydia glares at her, then explains for the tenth time, “Yeah, when we were about seven years old.”

“Lydia told me stories about you when I was a kid,” she jerks her chin at Sirius, “Mom was angry with her, but Lydia insisted you were innocent.” Lydia pinches her forearm discreetly but she continues after yanking her arm away. “Didn’t visit us for a year after that. Mum had to go apologise to her.”

Lydia’s jaw tenses, not daring to look at Sirius to see his reaction and slaps her hand away from her shoulder. “Did you start smoking again?” she hisses, “I’m going to report you.”

Dora waves the hand she just slapped dismissively. She opens her mouth widely to continue her monologue but Sirius cuts her off, “Shut the hell up.”

He sounds so cold and impatient. It gives her goosebumps to hear it again, even though it’s not directed at her.

Dora deflates, sharing an exasperated look with Remus who empties a small bag on the table. He pointedly ignores the tension and holds out a key to her.

*****

She comments on each item’s probable origins –which he could’ve done just as efficiently- with to the point instructions on who to contact, a bit impatient and sharp with Remus, who’s only guilty by association. It’s not fair but Remus is tougher than to crack under her biting tone. He takes it in stride, ignoring her foul mood long enough for her to calm down slowly.

Sirius really doesn’t blame her.

After a while, she softens and sends Remus a few guilt-ridden glances as he scribbles down some names he wished he’d never hear again. She decides to be even more helpful, writing down her notes on another scroll at the same time.

He didn’t forget this. Lydia striking, full force, then tending to his wounds like she wasn’t the one to inflict them in the first place.

They’re all focused on their job, and he allows himself to think about what Tonks said.

She thought he was innocent. She said it out loud for people to hear, which isn’t actually surprising in itself when he thinks about it. They lived together for years, had known each other intimately but it was never something that crossed his mind, that she might spare a thought for him or actually believe in him.

They didn’t exactly part in friendly terms. Neither of them are what he’d call a compromiser.

Also, she’s easily the pettiest person he knows, himself included. He wouldn’t put it past her to be glad that he was rotting in Azkaban out of pure spite, even if she believed in his innocence.

He is dragged away from his thoughts when Remus asks softly, “Come on, Lydia, how did you know about the kiss?” He keeps his eyes on hers, like he is approaching a hippogriff.

I have some expertise in that area, he thinks gloomily as he observes her from the sidelines, peeved at her ability to erase any emotion on a whim.

He doesn’t pretend he’s not suspicious of her because he is. The irony, however, is not lost on him.

He desperately wants to believe she didn’t help him. He just... doesn’t consider it to be likely. He’d probably accept it if he was presented with solid proof, which brings him back to square one because Lydia always seemed to take immense satisfaction in ignoring his suspicions about Crouch.

Maybe he is the petty one of the two. Azkaban isn’t really the place to mature.

When the question dawns on her, Lydia tenses again and her eyes snap up to Remus. “He said he was well.” Her burning eyes bore into Remus with barely contained rage that his body tenses in response. But the fear under the façade is obvious, from the way she grasps the arm of her chair .

“He hasn’t been kissed, I swear,” Remus soothes her, puts a gentle hand on her shoulders and waits until she relaxes enough to lean back.

He purposefully doesn’t think about the easy way Remus touches her.

“We chatted about you for an hour yesterday,” he offers, with a gentle smile. “He can be quite charming when he wants to be.”

That, he will think about and bring up the next time he argues with Remus.

She pushes his hands off her shoulder hastily as she releases a breath and crosses her arms over her chest, glowering at Moony. “Do you truly believe I would say that if I had anything to hide?”

Of course you would, he wants to say. When have you managed to hold your tongue? Especially when it comes to defending him.

“I can hardly imagine what kind of theories you have,” she clicks her tongue, looking all the parts that make him irk about her; proud, condescending and arrogant. He wonders if this is what people see when they look at him. “Care to share so I might laugh?”

“Provide you a list of possible outs?” he says, sardonic and icy. But he regrets the words once they’re out of his mouth. It sounds so horrible, like he’s already convicted her, sounds so much like something he said a million times before.

And she believed he was innocent.

Her glare turns on him, and his heart beats ferociously to have her attention on him.

It then stops working when raw pain flashes across her face. He braces himself for an equally cutting remark but she just stares at him, eyes suspiciously bright.

He hates how familiar this is. Hates how easily she turns the tables.

“ _Bloody hell,” he grumbles, barely aware of the disgusted expression he’s pulling, “are you going to cry again?”_

_One defiant tear falls from each eye, as she turns her face away to hide it into her shoulder. The image makes him stop in his tracks and suddenly the guilt is unbearable and he hates her for making him feel that way. He takes a step back in reflex, and puts his hands into his pockets -which is probably not a bright idea since she has her wand in her hand- and turns his face to the opposite side, so he doesn’t see her crying. He can hear her sniffing anyway and her reflection is clear as day on the windows as she pushes herself away from the wall._

_He sees it coming in slow motion as she points her wand at his back, and the spell hits him before he can grasp his wand_.

“Fair enough,” she says evenly, after a few suffocating moments. Her eyes get brighter and panic swells in his chest at the sight.

He doesn’t know what he’ll do if she starts crying. Probably hex her out of sheer confusion, which she’ll return, with a nastier curse.

She clears her throat and blinks a few times. No tears fall.

Tonks hides her face in her palms behind her, shaking her head as if she’s begging them to stop but it’s too late. Lydia seizes them up for a few moments, biting on her bottom lip, then her face contorts into an ugly sneer.

“I can’t be bothered,” she declares in the end, pushing herself up, almost knocking Tonks off as she does, her knees knocking into Remus’ legs in her haste to leave before anyone can stop her.

“You two are unbelievable,” Tonks chides them when she’s out of sight, gone as if she was never there.

Sirius snaps at her, “I told you to shut up.”

“Sirius,” Remus warns but he ignores him, preferring to glare at his cousin.

“I will not,” she says, her voice unusually hard and unforgiving. Then with a cold smirk that looks strange coming from her, she leans in, “you should be nice to her, considering she was the only one in the whole world to believe you were innocent.”

“You two,” Remus cuts in in a rush, “enough. Dora, admit it, it is suspicious that she knows about Barty…”

“It is not,” she rolls her eyes, “Crouch Sr fired their house elf last year during the Quidditch Cup when she lost Barty, remember? The elf had been working at Hogwarts since Dumbledore hired her but she’s mentioned to me last year that the elf came to her after she was fired, begging to be adopted or something.”

“Then she should’ve said something,” he mutters, while nausea washes over him as he looks back on all the things he accused her of.

“Like you said when you were arrested?” Remus asks quietly, with a smile that borders on condescending. It’s worse than a slap. Sirius gapes at him, inelegant and he can hear his mother berating him for it in his mind.

He closes his mouth, holding back a whimper when his heart suddenly burns in his chest like it’s about to burst into flames. The burn spreads to his arm quickly and he decides to get out of there before he faints with the pain.

“I think I’ve had my daily dose of scolding.”

He ignores their twin conscience-stricken faces, pitying him. He doesn’t look down to see Remus timid, but sure in his remark. Remus rarely says things he doesn’t mean.

He walks out, trying to put his feet firm on the ground to hide how shaken he feels. He looks around to make sure no one’s around after he shuts the door behind him, and he rubs his chest, his pants echoing around the corridor.

Climbing the stairs is a challenge but he manages without getting caught and that’s all he can hope for after a disastrous day. He throws himself on the bed and hides under the covers with his clothes on as soon as he closes the door behind him, pulling his aching knees into his chest.

He stares at Elizabeth, then sighs, explaining, “I’m having a bad day.”

He waits for her to say something. “You’re a bit dull, aren’t you?” he asks, disappointed in her for some reason, then quickly amends, “better to be dull than a snitch, though, so I suppose you’re fine. And you are never mean, even when I’m mean to you.”

She keeps smiling at him seductively and he snorts, “Not the time for that dear, I’m terribly tired,” he mumbles, chuckling at his own lame joke.

Don’t bottle up your emotions, they say. Bollocks.


	3. Chapter 3

A gentle hand awakens him from a peaceful sleep. Considering what he had been thinking about before falling asleep, it’s nothing short of a miracle. He blinks until Remus’ smiling face clears and pushes himself halfway up on an elbow.

“Is everything okay?” he asks with a croaky voice.

“Everything’s fine,” he assures Sirius, “Dora was invited to Lydia’s house. She says for a scolding but she convinced Lydia to bring the dinner here.”

“Oh, that’s…nice, I guess,” he mumbles as he throws his legs off the bed. His eyes catch the empty bottle and glass but he doesn’t defend himself and Remus doesn’t mention.

They are very good at ignoring the problems.

“Is she even a decent cook?” he says to himself, and he catches Remus frowning in confusion before he casts him an odd look like he’s grown two heads.

“You’ve always liked her cooking,” Remus says, slow and precise like he’s talking to a child.

Fuck.

“Shit, yeah, I know,” he lies. He doesn’t know shit. He rubs his temples, willing the headache to stop. “Is she here already? I was going to clean the house.”

He peers at Remus, who is suspiciously silent and rolls his eyes when he sees his friend’s amused expression.

“Save it,” he waves his hand and goes straight into his bathroom, Remus trailing after him. “She was one second away from checking the surfaces for dust and starting a pit of fire to burn the furniture. Did you see her face when she picked her cloak up?” he asks, snickering to himself despite the initial humiliation.

“Yeah, she looks…” Remus starts, searching for an appropriate word, then settles on, “posh?”

Sirius knows he’s probably thinking about Narcissa, from that one time he let it slip that particular observation in front of his friends in their third year. He’s grateful he doesn’t say it out loud.

“I bet you she’s going to spend hours cleaning the house if we manage to end this night without a fight.”

Remus shakes his head cheerfully, lost in his own memories, “Your house was always spotless and I never once invited her to my house.”

Sirius grins, clapping Remus on the shoulder. Lydia had noticed that too, after two years. It was an interesting talk. “She was quite insulted when I said it might be the reason.”

Remus smiles back and they stand there, in their comfortable silence before he decides to ruin it by asking, “Did you two stay in touch?”

Remus returns his gaze back to Sirius, and holds it like he wants to make it clear he’s not lying or hiding behind excuses. His answer is blunt but not unkind, much like Remus himself. “Not much. We had irrevocable differences.” His mouth curls into a humourless smile.

Sirius doesn’t say anything, taking his shaving kit out of it’s normal space. He throws an empty bottle of sobering potion into the bin almost defiantly but Remus doesn’t even notice, too busy glaring at the doorknob. After a while Remus sighs, and Sirius watches his reflection age ten years in a matter of seconds, looking much older than his thirty five years.

He meets Sirius’ eyes in the mirror, rubbing his hands over his stubbled chin. He flashes him a wistful half smile. “I don’t think she’ll ever forgive me for that.”

Sirius doesn’t object, “She holds a mean grudge.”

“She’s a mean person, period,” Remus blurts out, words tumbling out of his mouth like he’d been holding them back for a while. Sirius raises his eyebrows, curious as to what she might have said to Remus to leave this impression.

Remus blushes when he hears his own words and mumbles an apology. “Look at me, gossiping about your girlfriend to you of all people.”

“I know it first-hand, don’t worry,” he deflects, patting where the ring lays on his ribs. “Two peas in a pod,” he grins at Remus to break the tension but Remus doesn’t reciprocate. He drops it and spreads the shaving cream on his face, ignoring Remus’ attention on him not to cut his face.

“We were too much alike to be compatible,” Sirius says to fill the space between them after the silence becomes too stifling.

But… He actually wants to talk about this, he admits to himself. He has never talked about it before, not even to James. Lily and James were always gentle with each other, careful of each word that left their mouth. He would never understand what propelled them to say things they said to each other and how they could move past those things.

Remus is different in that matter.

“I don’t blame her, or myself, for how it turned out.” He lets the water run over the razor and brings it back to his face. He slides the razor down with steady hands. “Love doesn’t fix everything, after all,” he adds sarcastically.

“Not then perhaps,” Remus agrees after a while. There’s a lift in the corner of his lips like he’s keeping a secret from him.

“How is now any better?” he asks dubiously because he honestly can’t see anything preferable today than the day they last saw each other. She moved on with her life, rightfully. He shakes himself, tries to sound less bitter than he is, “She probably has a boyfriend. I’m surprised she isn’t married already.”

“Yeah, she came quite close to one, though,” he says thoughtfully. Sirius’ hand jerks and a shallow cut appears just below his cheekbone. He drops the razor into the sink and rounds back to demand an explanation. He takes in Remus’ triumphant expression and puffs out a breath, sending him an annoyed look despite the small smile on his lips.

“Clever bloke, aren’t you?”

“A bit,” Remus sniggers and Sirius can’t bring himself to be truly irritated with him, it’s such a rare thing to hear Remus laugh, and he doesn’t want to ruin it even if the humour is at his expense.

“I’m not going to hit on her, alright? This whole situation is embarrassing as it is,” he says, glaring at him through the mirror. “You should’ve warned me she was coming.”

“Not going to hit on her?” Remus asks wryly, ignoring the last part. “Mate, I’m sorry to inform you but you’ve already done that.”

Sirius just rolls his eyes, not allowing himself to dwell on his own blatant staring. Remus lets him finish in peace.

He pats his cheeks with a clean towel, putting pressure on the small wound before he rummages through the cabinets for the after shave lotion Remus bought last week. He ignores Remus’ arched brows as he puts it on, hissing in pain when it stings the cut.

“Let’s go and clean?” Remus offers, waving his wand on his clothes to remove wrinkles, an olive branch after his teasing. He nods and yells, “Kreacher!”

The elf apparates in and sends them both venomous glares, which Sirius replies with his own. “You’re to stay in your room until my guests are gone. Do not make any noises. You will not do anything that I haven’t explicitly told you that you can do.”

“Entertaining mudbloods and blood traitors,” he sneers just before he disappears, before Sirius can even open his mouth to scold him for his language. Remus pats him on the shoulder and Sirius swallows around the bitter taste.

They descend the stairs silently, taking extra care as they walk past his mother. His mind is still boggled from witnessing Lydia chatting casually with her.

Walburga loved Lydia, his mind unnecessarily offers, which was something he always found revolting and provided them quite a lot to argue on. A wealthy, pureblood girl. She found her antics and backtalk charming, when she thought them unforgivable on him or his brother, not that Reg did much of them. At least not under their parents scrutiny.

She could get away with almost anything, even befriending half bloods and blood traitors by humouring them when she was questioned. It helped that they thought Bartemius Crouch Sr was going to be the Minister one day. Didn’t hurt that their future daughter-in-law was best mates with the son of a future minister, halfblood or not. At least he has some Black blood in him, they used to say, he thinks bitterly.

His thoughts come to a halt when he sees Lydia turning in circles to find a suitable place to place the food in her hands. She’s changed into a thick beige sweater instead of that white top that showed her tits and Sirius doesn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

Remus walks up to her and takes the bags from her, and looks just as out of place and confused as he feels.

“Sirius, you mind if I…” she asks with a grimace on her face and Sirius feels his face heat up with the implication but hearing his name on her lips drowns his slight embarrassment.

She doesn’t wait for a reply and points her wand at the table and the cupboards.

He did not expect her to be back the same day. He was going to clean. He chews inside his cheek to not to say that. He nods curtly nevertheless, and pretends Lydia cared to check.

She goes to inspect the table and the dishware after she’s done walking in circles to Scourgify every surface she finds. She stands still for a long strained moment, and Sirius thinks she’s about to declare the table not fit to dine on. But she ushers them closer with a polite smile, sitting next to his place, which is the head of the table.

He realises, this is almost like playing house. This is how they would’ve sit if they got married. If his mother got her wishes. He wonders if this was what made her pause.

She waves her wand at the bags and he feels a pleasant chill spread on his skin as the spell passes right through him, igniting nerve endings and awakening him out of his stupor. His eyelashes flutter and he gives a full shudder but manages to hold back a contented sigh. Lydia gives him a strange look but doesn’t comment. He doesn’t fool himself. He knows she knows.

She always knows what he’s thinking.

Tonks rubs her hands in excitement as the tomato soup pours from a small pot and all Sirius can think about is if she’s a good cook like Remus claimed. They all look at each other, waiting for someone else to say something, anything but they all remain silent.

Tonks is the first one to grab a spoon and dive in, moaning in delight.

He tries not to flinch at the sound but forgets his own discomfort when he finds Lydia watching her with a slightly disgusted face. She stands up taller and erases it when she realises he is watching her but she grins back easily when Sirius winks at her on a whim.

“Right,” she says, and starts eating the soup exactly like his mother did.

Snob is too delicate of a word to describe this. The spoon partially disappears between her lips three times- red and so, so inviting- before he becomes aware of the eyes on him. Lydia puts her spoon down, patting her lips with a napkin awkwardly, staring down at her bowl.

Was he really caught watching her eating soup?

He picks up his spoon and holds it from the wrong side on purpose. Lydia’s eyes disappear into her skull like she knows why he’s doing it but he decides to take no notice of her mocking, and turns his attention to his food.

He is pleasantly surprised when he tastes it, and his eyes snap up to Lydia, who’s already watching him with wide, expectant eyes. He feels his mouth turn up in a smile, wincing inwardly at their stilted interactions. “This is delicious,” he compliments her. She beams at him, sighing in pleasure at the praise like she was worried he might not like it.

“Not one of your favourites, I know, but I didn’t have the necessary ingredients at home,” she explains offhandedly but his heart squeezes in his chest. He might not remember what his favourite soup is but she does. He lets himself stare for a moment, drinking in the way her light brown hair falls over her cheekbones before she tucks it behind her ear.

She turns her attention back to her food, much more cheerful than before but she’s taken her eyes away from him and... He can’t let that happen so soon.

“I love it, thank you,” he says quietly and winces when her self satisfied smile falters. She recovers quickly enough and Tonks talks enough that it’s never awkward again. He speaks when he absolutely has to, but usually just lets their voices fade into background noise, only paying attention when Lydia opens her mouth to talk, which is a lot less than he’d like.

He learns her brother, Felix, the little one he saw only a few times in passing before, lived in France after a few years in Romania as a dragonologist, married to a halfblood witch. Tonks whines non stop about him, saying he loved to take points off her just because he was jealous, but he has the feeling it was well deserved. She beams when he talks about her niece and he wonders, for a moment, why she hadn’t that with anybody yet.

She had fifteen years.

She doesn’t mention when she came back to England. He doesn’t even know if she lives in London.

“Remember that café?” she prods him with an easy-going grin when his feet bump into her on accident, her attention solely on him for the first time since the beginning. One slice of cheesecake lands in front of them each, bought from a Muggle pantry on her street, apparently, but she halts when he stares at her in confusion.

“You don’t?” she asks to clarify and her eyes trail back to Remus. She frowns, like it’s a significant memory. It probably is but he can’t remember anything even close to it. He wants to wave it off, wants to pretend it was only a momentary disorientation but she is going to know he’s lying, and while he doesn’t mind lying when he needs to, he doesn’t like being caught.

“I don’t, sorry,” he says. It sounds confident enough and doesn’t betray his internal battle.

“Oh,” she says, her hand flying to her chest, like she might be about to swoon. She blinks at him, her head tilted to the side like he is a puzzle she needs to solve. “That’s alright,” she says in the end, and nods purposefully, trying to convince herself.

He wishes he knew if she was hurt or freaked out.

They fumble for words after that until they’re finished but it’s all so...Formal. When they’re done they smile at each other and share pleasantries until Tonks declares that it was the tensest dinner she ever had, even worse than the one after she set Lydia’s house on fire.

Lydia laughs in an easy way that shows she knows about that story and she shares a grin with Tonks. “You’d think that but you’ve never actually dined with the Blacks,” she teases him and he can’t help but be amused, despite the touchy subject.

“When was the last time you had the honour?” he humours her and her eyes glint, tapping her chin to recall.

“We were what, fifteen?”

He shrugs, because he can’t remember their age but he remembers his mortification as his parents and her grandmother talked about possible places to hold their wedding in front of Lydia, who looked grossed out by the concept.

“No, you were sixteen, I was fifteen and it was before we left for Nice,” she tells him and gives a wide grin at the other two. “Felix was staying with my grandma’s niece. Reg was sitting there, just across me, the little shit, and…” she chatters cheerfully as she points to the chair next to where Tonks is sitting, then she abruptly falls silent.

“Guess we’re the only ones left from that table,” Sirius says, trying to keep his tone gentle. He wasn’t aware of what happened to her other brother until Remus filled him in and he feels weirdly guilty for not being there when it happened. He remembers how utterly broken she was over Regulus. He puts the thought aside, to be examined and mulled over later.

He can vividly see him too, grinning with all of his teeth at Lydia as his mother furiously defended London as the proper city to have the wedding ,while his father kept on picking his food.

“Not really,” Lydia drags out the words, pressing her lips together like she’s holding back a laugh.

“What do you mean?”

“Grandma is alive and kicking,” she answers with a slight tug on her mouth.

“What is she now, two hundred?” he asks, appalled.

“Don't be absurd,” she giggles, “she’s a lot younger than Dumbledore but she’s determined to fix that at the end. She even quit smoking. She’s on a world tour now with her lady clique.”

Tonks rolls her eyes like there’s more to the story but she ushers Remus and Sirius out with the bottle they haven’t opened yet before he can ask. He doesn’t want to leave Tonks alone with Lydia but it will sound mental if he says something of that kind. He doesn’t even know why he objects in the first place. Remus all but drags him when he resists anyway. He throws himself onto his least hated sofa and broods as Remus starts filling the glasses with the wine Lydia brought. It’s probably more expensive than Remus’ coat but he doesn’t look uncomfortable in the slightest as he hands a glass.

He bites down on a bitter laugh. The Remus he knows would rather fake his death than hand him any alcohol.

They come back in soon enough, whispering frantically like they’re having an argument, Lydia’s hand casually on Tonks’ elbow as she balances Tonks’ natural clumsiness. She smiles a bit tightly at Remus as she accepts the glass and takes a bigger sip than he expected.

She sits on the windowsill, like she did in the kitchen and cranes her neck to look outside. Moonlight illuminates her face, as her lips move like she’s humming a song to herself. The image feels like just another kick in the gut, and every ‘could’ve been pounce on him in a rush. He doesn’t let his mind wander any further, instead lets his gaze linger on her parted lips shining with wine, her lipstick smudged after their meal.

“What kinds of wards are in this house?” she asks, curious.

“It’s mostly my father’s work,” he admits, and she hums, no doubt finding his answer inadequate. “Fidelius and some others by Dumbledore,” he adds after a moment.

They fall into an uncomfortable silence once more, and Sirius is getting sick of it, but Tonks speaks up again, saving them. He’ll owe her so much after tonight, even if bringing Lydia here was her idea. He can’t be mad at her for that.

“Lydia has the most ridiculous wards on her home,” Tonks chuckles and Lydia shrugs sheepishly, “she put about ten extra wards herself on top of family wards after the first war, my mum says. She even did some creepy blood magic with Felix. You know, Moody would love to have you as your associate.”

“He would never,” she says lightly but there is a finality in her tone, despite the distant look in her eyes like her mind has already wandered elsewhere.

She clears her throat and elaborates when she sees Sirius and Remus looking at her curiously. “I gave testimony on some Death Eaters that were on the loose. Didn’t want to leave it to fate after that.”

Remus nods like that makes sense, and Sirius knows he should leave it at that too but he’s speaking before he finds a delicate way to ask. “Which ones?”

Lydia eyes him warily as she sips her wine. Her voice is too airy for the topic when she deigns with an answer. “Pretty much everyone I knew or had suspicions about. They kept me in custody for days.”

He was expecting her to be vague, but it still irks him. Nevertheless, it’s enough to paint a picture.

“So you didn’t talk about Crouch and that’s why Moody is inquiring about you.”

She lifts a brow, taunting him, but her fingers tremble as she takes a generous sip from her glass. “I did talk,” she responds, “they just didn’t like what I had to say.”

“What did you say?”

Her face loses it’s forced disinterest, her eyes flashing with fury, fucking finally, and she smiles in an apathetic manner. She holds his gaze without flinching when he stares up at her with a similar expression.

“I said if Barty was indeed a Death Eater, it was his father’s fault.”

His vision blackens for a moment when she says his name.

“I assume you said that to his face.”

“You assumed right,” she says indifferently, again, now staring at the floor, pushing at a loose wood board with the toe of her boots. This one looks more suited to Grimmauld Place but still, too polished and shiny. It grates on his nerves more than the aloof, haughty expression on her face or his fucking name on her lips.

“But you knew he was a Death Eater all along,” he says leaning back on the sofa and throwing a leg over to put his ankle over his knee. She hates it if he plays casual when they’re arguing; that he remembers. He sees Remus slapping his forehead with his palm and Tonks putting a placating hand on his abdomen but he ignores them.

“I did not,” she objects, scowling at him. He feels a vindictive rush for making her drop her act so soon.

“Right,” he scoffs, “Not all along? Is this your angle? Are we playing word games? Do you want me to invite Lucius Malfoy while we’re at it?”

“I never had any evidence that he was one before he was caught and you know it,” she grits out like it physically pains her not to yell.

“You would’ve found evidence if you actually looked for it instead of burying your head in the sand!” he hisses with such rancor that it startles everyone except Lydia, who barks out a laugh like she’d been waiting for this.

She slams her almost empty glass down -when did she even drink it- and strides towards him with such force that for a second he regrets his words. He stands up in alarm when she comes closer than he expected, one hand reaching out to his wand behind his back but he refrains.

“You suspecting him is not enough for me to start snooping!”

He pulls himself to his full height to tower over her. It does not have the desired effect. She snorts as if to say ‘Is this all?’

“Why not?” he laughs without a trace of humour, placing his fists on his hips to stop himself from grabbing her and shaking her until her brain leaks from her ears.

She takes another step closer in warning and his whole body tenses, ready to bolt or snap out his wand. He sees she’s got her wand out already but it only spurs him on and he throws his hands up in the air mockingly. “I was right, wasn’t I?”

“You were bloody obsessed with him since we were kids,” she spits out, as she takes the last step between them to dig her wand into his stomach and stares at him like he’s the dirt under her shiny shoes, “you accused him of anything you could think of. You found another thing whenever one of your theories was proven wrong. No one in their right mind would take your word for it.”

Her words land just like it was intended, and he takes a step back in shock, his vision blurring. He feels like someone is trying to tear a piece of his lungs, like his mouth will fill to the brim with his blood if he dares to breathe.

She’s just angry. She doesn’t mean it.

He repeats these in his mind until his vision clears. He tries to find his way back to the sofa to sit down but he sways on his feet. Warm hands land on his shoulder to steady him. He tries to shake him off but Remus tightens his hold enough to hurt and blearily he sees Tonks handing Lydia her cloak.

“Yeah, run away, turn a blind eye to everything around you, because that’s much nobler than being a Death Eater,” he yells at her as she points her wand at his chest with a slightly insane gleam in her eyes, and Tonks grabs her arm with two hands to lower it down. She doesn’t budge. “Why face the problems when you can fuck off to France and hide until someone fixes the problems for you?”

“Stop,” Remus pleads him, tugging at his arm but he can’t tear his eyes away from her, and her hand starts shaking as they stare into each other. It makes him angrier, that she’s making herself to be the victim again, that she’s blinking the tears away when she still keeps her wand trained on him.

He knows she never pointed a wand on him except to heal him. The memory of them knocking their wands together in laughter flashes in front of his eyes and suddenly he is tugging the chain on his neck, the metal chafing the back of his neck until it snaps into pieces and he throws it at her feet.

“There, the next time you do something like this, have the courage to face it. Don’t just send your lap dog to do your dirty work.”

He turns on his heels and rushes through the stairs, desperate for escape, much like his thirteen year old self.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The characters' opinions/reactions do not represent mine. I wrote the dialogues in a way that is probably more accurate given the time frame.

**1976-Summer**

He stands in front of his door with his hand hovering in the air, not sure if he needs to knock to go into his own room. In the end, he decides he can always say he didn’t realise she was inside.

When he enters, he finds her lying down on his bed with her legs dangling from the edge, her heels thumping against the bottom. She doesn’t stop reading his Muggle magazine to acknowledge him, the pages dangerously close to her face that he thinks she must have gone cross eyed.

He wonders what his mother would think seeing her precious future daughter-in-law enjoying “the Muggle filth he dares to bring into her home”. While he doesn’t agree with the gist at all, he hates these things as much as she does. This “filth” that are targeted at women who have way too much time on their hands. They’re plain stupid, from the tips on how to win a guy’s heart to how to make your breasts look bigger.

He barks out a delighted laugh as she puts it down.

HOW TO MAKE HIM PUT A RING ON IT?

“You need help?” he teases, throwing herself next to her.

She grins, standing halfway on her elbows. “Nah, I’ve already scored. Gorgeous bloke, you should see him.”

“You’re going to have to work harder than that if he’s really as gorgeous as you claim,” he says, gesturing to the magazine.

“I don’t think I have to,” she says with one brow arched. The insinuation makes his stomach twist with anxiety, does she know, did James say something, is he that obvious, but he doesn’t object. That would only show she’s getting under his skin. She turns onto her left side, their faces close enough that he can hear her breathing.

His gaze locks onto her mouth, but he pries it away immediately. She catches him -of course she does, she always does whenever he dares to look.. He shuts his eyes closed, feeling his blush spreading to his whole face longer they stand in silence. He waits for the teasing to come but it never does. When he risks opening his eyes, he is met with her scrutinizing eyes.

His face warms even more, and it takes all of his self control not to hide his face into the covers.

He searches for something to say to draw her attention to something else other than his flaming face. “You’re lucky you’re not staying in England for the summer. I’ll be locked in this house for months.”

She examines him for a few moments. “You can always stay with us.”

Sirius hesitates, but she goes on like she doesn’t notice. “Your mother will be ecstatic and you won’t be stuck in this house. Double win for you. Besides, we thought Evan would come with us but he’s going to be with his friends. We’ve got space.”

The taste in his mouth sours at the mention of her older brother and ‘his friends’, but she doesn’t mention it if she notices his expression.

“What about your grandmother?”

She chuckles, “She doesn’t mind, trust me. She loves to show off to guests. She invited Barty herself.”

At the mention of the guy, his mood nose dives but she’s distracted, wrapping a thread of string from her shirt around her finger, checking out his decorations absentmindedly.

“Is Barty... Is he your boyfriend?”

She frowns, her gaze snatched back to him, every trace of amusement cleared from her face. But she shakes it off, puts on a smirk that looks more fake than teasing.

“No, I’m already engaged.”

He huffs, sending her a sharp look but he can’t manage to keep her gaze for long when he knows he’s outright pouting. She drops the pretence and shakes her head when he turns his head away.

“He’s my best friend, Sirius. Nothing else.”

He nods even though nothing in this world could make him believe the guy doesn’t like her, like that. He sees how handsy he is, always a point of contact between them. Arms pressed together, a finger around a strand of hair, a chin on a shoulder. He sees the way she laughs at his jokes, quiet and sneaky, like they’re always sharing a secret. Though it baffles him that Lydia laughs at whatever it is that he tells her, because she always laughs at the right things.

“Like your jokes?” James’ voice pipes up in his head.

“Okay,” he murmurs, sounding petulant to his own ears. He doesn’t dare look at her, because then she’ll be able to tell he dwells on this.

“I can’t believe the most popular guy in school is jealous of Barty fucking Crouch,” Peter mumbles under his breath, earning an elbow in the flank from Remus.

“I’m not jealous,” he says, carefree and does. not. look.

His only consolation is that he’s a year below them and he doesn’t have to worry about them being together until the classes end.

Lydia, probably not aware how irrational he is about this, like James repeatedly tells him, doesn’t start giving out proof on how strictly platonic their relationship is.

Lydia’s eyes fly over his face without a word while Sirius keeps sulking, hyperaware of her attention. Sirius had always found it mildly insulting that she never tries to initiate conversations with him when he sees her chattering with Crouch non stop everyday. It’s not like she lacks things to talk about.

She pokes him in the arm and in his periphery, he sees her lips twitch, “Is Potter your boyfriend?”

His head whips to stare at her, rendered speechless at the question. “The fuck are you on about?” he splutters as she turns onto her front, her soft, warm body pinning his arm, and she hides her face as she shakes with silent laughter. He stabs a finger into her shoulder and pushes her onto her back when she resists looking at him.

“Merlin, Lydia, where the fuck did that come from?” he exclaims, looming over her.

“Is he your boyfriend?” she imitates, down to his shaky tone and everything.

He scowls at her but doesn’t budge. “It’s different.”

“How so?” she asks, still grinning.

“You’re a girl and he’s a boy,” he says, like it’s a rule she should’ve known about but he doesn’t sound very convincing even to himself.

She looks even more delighted, and her hand lands on his chest, bunching up his shirt. He wonders if she’s doing it on purpose, if she’s flirting but she looks so casual that he can’t be sure that he won’t make an ass of himself if he makes a move. Her hair is a mess from turning around. As if he’d been running his hands in it. As if they’d been making out.

“So girls and boys can’t be friends? I expected better from you, Sirius,” she says with fake disappointment. She’s not taking him seriously, at all.

He scowls harder, pinning his gaze to a distant point, trying to pay attention to the conversation rather than her body plastered to his. “I’m not saying that.”

“I know you don’t mean that,” she says quickly and he nods, relieved.

She adds offhandedly, “Sounds to me like you’re just jealous.”

He groans. “That’s not what this is about, at all,” he objects, his voice high pitched. He discreetly clears his throat, puffing his cheeks. 

“Sure,” she says lightly, and Sirius goes rigid with the sick anticipation of what’s coming next, “so maybe you’re projecting your own relationship with James onto us.”

He gapes at her, blinking furiously to make the words make sense.

She throws her head back in laughter. “Boys can have boyfriends too, you know,” she says when it becomes clear he’s too bewildered to reply.

“I know that,” he half yells, frustrated, then a thought crosses in his mind. “Do you think I’m like that?”

For the first time that night, she is the one to be taken aback. “What? No.”

Her immediate reply placates him, and he lets himself relax into the bed. “Mother would have a fit if she heard you talking like that,” he says, sarcastic.

Her fingers splay open on his chest, one of them grazing the bare skin and he feels it down to his toes. He tries to act like this is his normal and doesn’t mention her closeness even though he shivers and freezes at random intervals, almost convulsing as her fingertips caress his skin.

He’s going to allow her, not because he loves it. Just because he refuses to be the one to back out.

“Are you going to tell her?”

He scoffs, “She wouldn’t believe me anyway. She thinks you’re the most perfect pureblood girl to ever exist.”

I think you are the most perfect girl, period.

The thought takes him by surprise, though maybe it shouldn’t have. He ruminates about it, lost in his own head, when he realises Lydia is trying to catch his attention. She is frowning down at him in worry, and another thought hits him.

He’s scared shitless that she likes Crouch back.

“Just look at Snivellus and Evans,” he blurts out, the surprise on Lydia’s face mirroring his own.

“Did you…” she starts, and wriggles her fingers into his ribs, making him gasp, “did you just compare Barty and Snape?”

Sirius snorts, trying to wriggle away from her tickling halfheartedly, “I did.”

“That is nasty,” she drawls, huffing out a breath when he grabs her wrists and yanks, locking them behind her back in his hands. She ends up half on top of him but doesn’t do anything to get out of his grip.

“He’s not ugly as Snape,” he murmurs.

She doesn’t answer, her face inscrutable as she stares at him.

“Sirius,” she says, her voice so low that he only hears because they are mere inches apart.

“Yeah?” he breathes out, his heart thundering in his chest.

“I’m going to kiss you now.”

His head spins and he distantly realises she’s waiting for an answer. He manages a nod.

She looks at him for one more careful second before her lips touch his lips, hesitant and soft, unlike her brutal teasing. It still knocks the breath out of him, his lips tingling as she angles her head so their mouths fit better.

He moans when she shifts until she’s on top on him, her thighs straddling his hips. On a whim, he grabs her by the waist and stands up, tugging her closer until she’s properly sitting in his lap, their chests flush against each other.

Her fingers tangle in his hair, more delicately than he’d have expected, while his hands roam over her thighs, her waist but not daring to go any higher. Not the first time they kiss, no matter how much he yearns for it.

She shivers when his thumbs brush underneath her breasts, her mouth opening wider to let his tongue in. She goes lax in his hands, allowing Sirius to devour her as he pleases and Sirius grabs the back of her head to deepen the kiss.

She leans back when breathing becomes unavoidable, looking at him with her mouth shining and chest heaving. She swallows, cupping his face in her hand, panting loudly.

She grinds down on his crotch, making him twitch with his full body under her and their moans mix. She hides her face into the crook of his neck, her mouth ghosting over his skin. Sirius finally allows himself to grab the arse he had been admiring for some time-

A knock startles them and she gets up from his lap like she’s been burnt, running her shaky fingers in her hair. He throws himself back on the bed and covers his face with his hands. He doesn’t remove them when she calls “Come in,”, or when the door opens and his brother comes in. A few seconds pass before he mutters, “You’re leaving Lydia.”

He knows he’s being a horrible arsehole when he doesn’t move, but he’s mortified, and the three of them stay in awkward silence. In the end, he hears her sigh, her steps stopping for a few seconds, probably to hug his own fucking brother as he literally hides his face because he doesn’t have the courage to look at her face. What a great Gryffindor he is.

They don’t exchange words but he can imagine the look they share.

The door shuts when her steps become inaudible.

He wants to disappear, wants to be anywhere but here. He’d prefer to be facing his mother now, rather than his brother. At least she’d be glad she stumbled upon something to force this marriage on them further.

“That was cold, Sirius,” Regulus breaks the silence, his voice unusually hard. “Even for you.”

He stands up, and glares at his brother, who looks more upset than his voice suggested. His face is crimson and it bothers Sirius that he can’t tell if it’s because he’s embarrassed or angry.

“Mind your own fucking business,” he snaps, his insides twisting with shame as he properly considers how it must have looked to her.

“I thought you didn’t like her,” Regulus exclaims, his voice cracking and he looks even more frustrated upon hearing his voice.

“Why on earth would you think that?” he hisses, barely refraining from yelling with the full force of his lungs.

Regulus snorts. His eyes narrow in warning. “Maybe because all you do is ignore her at school when you’re not glaring at one of us. Maybe because she’s a pureblood. I assumed you’d find yourself a mudblood girlfriend, just to spite Mother.”

Sirius grits his teeth, choosing to ignore the first half or one of us. “I don’t care that she’s a pureblood. I’d care if she was a bigoted racist with an unhealthy obsession with murderers.”

Regulus doesn’t rush to deny it, unlike the last time he brought this up. Instead, he jerks his chin up like he is proud of being that bigoted racist, his mouth pressing into a thin line as he turns the volume up of his glare. “Doesn’t matter. I doubt she’d want anything to do with you now, anyway. It’s not like there aren’t any blokes that fancy her.”

Sirius laughs, cold and sharp, crowding into Regulus who doesn’t take a step back or even wince. His brother’s grey eyes stare into his stubbornly. “Maybe you should stick to talking about things you know about,” he drawls, his words mocking. He itches to send another barb about this so-called Dark Lord, but refrains. From the sudden tension in his brother’s shoulder, he knows he hears it anyway.

He’s been told he’s as subtle as a Bludger to the face.

Regulus’ mouth curls into a mocking smile. “Since I’m her friend and you are not, I’d say I’m in the right territory.”

“She wouldn’t spare you a glance if you weren’t Crouch’s friend. Barely acquaintance by proxy, more like,” he drags out the syllables, as he takes a step closer.

Regulus’ eyes flash, and he takes the last step between them. From this close, Sirius can hear his teeth grinding, counting the freckles on his nose. Regulus holds his gaze before he clicks his tongue, and says conversationally, “Did you know they’re going to spend the whole summer together?”

Sirius’ face contorts into a grimace without his permission and Regulus laughs loudly, throwing his head back in delight. Sirius tampers down the urge to wringe his skinny neck like a chicken.

“I think this was your chance, brother,” he says, still chuckling in-between words, “not that I’m surprised you botched it.”

Sirius tries to keep his expression blank despite the sinking feeling in his stomach but he’s already panting. If this was James, or Remus, he could get away with feigning nonchalance but Regulus, like him, had been trained to look for where to strike since the day he was born.

Regulus’ laughter dies and he walks backwards, like he doesn't trust Sirius not to hex him. A smirk stays on his face as he steps out, finally turning his back. A few snide comments about Slytherins come to mind at that but he dismisses just as it comes, considering it’ll backfire after what just happened.

Regulus pauses just as he’s about to close the door.

“I’ll inform you when they start fucking,” he says pleasantly. The word seems obscene coming from his mouth. “I’ll even let you read the letters.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took my last university exam today and I feel so free. I really can't wait for my retirement.
> 
> I hope you liked the chapter!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to avoid confusion: The flashback in this chapter happens after the OWLs in fifth year (as we see in Snape's memories). The last chapter was the summer between fifth and sixth year. So the events in his chapter happened before last chapter's events.

She lowers her wand as he marches through the door. Slowly but surely, she becomes aware of her panting, and her tears that have started falling the second Sirius turned his back.

She sniffs once before she kneels down to grab the chain and the ring. She puts it into her pocket, resisting the urge to put it on. She ignores Dora and Remus to collect some of her dignity after being told off like that. She wipes her face onto her shoulders carelessly and puts on a strained smile as she stands up.

She waves a vague hand around and clears her throat. “I’m sorry for this.” She swallows and stares at the corridor Sirius disappeared into.

She doesn’t know if she feels more wounded or enraged.

“I’m really sorry,” she repeats, her voice wobbly and they both mumble something incorrigible.

She swallows again and pinches herself in the arm. She refuses to cry in this house. “Can one of you inform me when he cools down?”

She knows she’s stalling but she waits until they nod, still not meeting her eyes.

She bites back any remarks about their reactions and leaves them to gossip. Whatever.

Once she throws herself inside her house she throws her cloak on the floor and slides down, with her back to the wall until her butt touches the cold ground.

It’s eerily quiet.

She considers fetching Felix but discards the idea just as it comes. She’s not going to be the one to bring up Evan with him again. He’s bound to come up if she talks about what happened. She doesn’t fancy another fight tonight.

She doesn’t want to discuss Sirius with Dora or Andy. And she’d rather die than going to Remus for advice. Even her grandmother is preferable. At least she’s bound to take her side.

She wants to discuss Sirius with Sirius, she realises and laughs at herself.

_“He probably had it coming,” Barty says, way too cheerful as they watch James Potter humiliate Snape across the field. “Their insults are always so on point-“_

_He guffaws when he sees her face. He leans down to peck her cheek to ease the comment. “Come on. Get off your high horse. Didn’t he call you ‘Black’s whore’ just two days ago?”_

_She shrugs, “Not really.”_

_“You told me yourself,” Barty frowns in confusion._

_“He called me ‘Black’s bitch’.”_

_“My apologies. That’s so much better.”_

_“Well, I might have insinuated at his crush on Evans in front of his friends.”_

_Barty tosses his head back in laughter. “That explains a lot.”_

_“Explains what?”_

_“Reg told me Evan had been giving him nightmares over Evans.”_

_She rolls her eyes. “He should’ve known it would reach him. He loves tattling on me, after all.”_

_“Who do you suppose told Evan?”_

_She shrugs absentmindedly._

_“If anyone’s a bitch, that’s Black, anyway,” he sniffs, and reaches for her hand. She rests her head on his bony shoulder as they watch Evans gesture wildly, her voice echoing around the lake._

_“O-oh,” he gasps when Lily Evans starts marching towards them and he stops sniggering as the crying girl runs past them, tugging Lydia out of the way at the last second. “Wonder what happened,” he mumbles, but he looks more curious than sympathetic. He huffs in annoyance when he sees the torn look on her face._

_“It’s her fault for befriending him,” Barty rationalises and Lydia can’t say anything to that. It is her fault, isn’t it? Everyone knew who Snape hung out with when he wasn’t with her._

_Her gaze wanders back to them and groans in despair when she sees Sirius’ lot is much closer than she would’ve thought. James Potter looks livid and for a dreadful second, she thinks they’ll have to duel them. She doesn’t fancy getting detention in their last days and she doesn’t think she can hold Barty back from using his nasty curses._

_They stand their ground as they approach because they will not move to make way for them to walk on. Barty refuses that on principle and she wholeheartedly agrees._

_They get in a line to enter the castle. Potter seems miserable enough, and he doesn’t even spare them a glance. Remus, who’s trailing right behind him with his head bowed, lifts a shoulder as if to say “What was I supposed to do?”. Peter has to turn sideways to not touch them accidentally but Barty thankfully doesn’t comment on it._

_Because he is in a staring match with Sirius._

_She sighs loudly and nods at Sirius, who loses the pissing contest when his eyes snap to their hands._

_He wrenches his eyes away and glares at her, and she raises her eyebrows in question._

_“Not your fiancée,” Barty says when he actually starts tapping his foot like he’s waiting for an explanation._

_Sirius freezes for a moment, then he’s back in his usual shell and scoffs down at Barty. She feels bad for Sirius for a second before Sirius snarls, “Did your daddy remember to send you any gifts for your birthday?”_

_Lydia aims the stinging hex at his crotch._

_***_

Sirius has too many sore spots, and his first reaction is always to confront and demand explanations, putting every problem on the table at once, without any idea to solve them. He doesn’t believe in doing things step-by-step.

It’s all or nothing, black or white, love or hate.

Their sharp edges always cut, and mostly intentionally.

She doesn’t know how to approach this man who has lost his best friends, who spent twelve years in Azkaban, in depression. Who looks so much older than she does but smiles the same smile and indulges her when she wants to banter. Who listens intently when she speaks, eyes bright with interest for every little story she has.

Who carries her ring on his neck.

Who watches him with an intensity that scares her. She admits, in the darkness of her huge, old, empty house, just to herself that she’s both terrified and thrilled of his single mindedness when he stares at her.

She let him put rings on their fingers, binding them with blood magic at nineteen. She welcomed it. When everyone else was at unease at what they’ve done, she thought arrogantly, it’s not that binding.

“ _Wizards always leave a way out,” she told Barty, whose face creased when he got her meaning._

She sighs as she takes the ring and chain out of her pocket, and her finger throbs with phantom pain. She rolls it around her palm before she gives in and pushes it on her finger. The sight -so foreign and so familiar at the same time- gives her a thrill of doing something you’re not allowed to do and her palm closes into a fist protectively.

She pushes herself up and doesn’t look inside the kitchen she was anxiously preparing dinner a few hours ago. Going through her nightly routine is basically torture but she endures and she is rewarded when the monotony of it empties her mind for the first time today.

She crawls under the covers after she puts on her pyjamas, keeping her eyes closed stubbornly until the sleep takes over.

**

The next day doesn’t come with revelations. She sorts through her mail in the bed with a cup of coffee, and wonders how long it will take someone to find her if she bolts now.

She pauses when she picks up Felix’s letter from Friday. He would Floo her or send another letter if there was anything urgent, which makes her think that this is probably her little brother asking after her. She tears the envelope in her haste to hear something genuine, from a person who unconditionally loves her. She tears up as she reads, feeling her throat close up as his words echo in her mind, her bleary gaze focused on her niece’s drawings.

She wants to take his offer, wants to Floo to his house and join them even for one day. But she always feels like she’s intruding, no matter how many times Felix or his wife tell her she is family, directly or with their actions.

On the other hand, that would mean she doesn’t have to see Sirius or Barty today. Only her desire to prove Sirius wrong prevents her from leaving.

A lump appears in her throat as she rehashes his words in her head. She presses down her outrage before it overwhelms her.

Maybe she needs to take the day off to calm down, just in case.

How do you tell fifteen year old secrets? How do you tell someone to get over someone’s death?

He got over Regulus’ death far quicker than the Potters’, she thinks with bitterness. It still makes her heart ache for Regulus, the stupid, naïve boy. It makes her want to claw her eyes out just for knowing it. Sirius spent a few hours silently mourning when they got the news, mostly holding Lydia through her sobs, then he was as well as he was the day before. It made Lydia feel like she had to mourn him for two people.

Why does she can never stop hurting for Regulus when he seems indifferent at best?

She tries to organise her mind to decide on an action plan as she showers and eats but she’s as hopeless as she was the night before. On top of everything, Regulus fills her thoughts, and it makes her angrier and bitter at Sirius.

In the end, she decides to rip the band aid off, like the Muggles say and grabs a cloak from the entrée. She sends the cloak she threw on the floor into the laundry, mumbling under her breath about the state of Grimmauld Place.

When she grabs a handful of Floo powder, she spots her hand, the ring still on from the night before and she flushes in panic, sweat covering her skin in an instant.

She drags her feet back to her room in shame, her heart shattering as she puts it next to the letters she’s saved from. After she’s sure of it’s safety, after a few too many checks, she stops putting it off and drags herself back to Floo.

There are some advantages to her house and Grimmauld Place beyond the wards, untraceable Floo being one of them.

“Grimmauld Place."

Her pulse starts racing the second she steps into the room where they had their fight. She trips over a book and curses, picking it up to put it on the shelves.

Her hand itches to vanish every single carpet in this house, and if she gets her way, this one would be the first one to go. She gets into a staring match with it, so she’s totally unprepared when someone apparates into the room.

She shrieks.

An elf glares at her, with a kitchen knife held high and she laughs despite herself. “Kreacher?” she asks in surprise and the elf inhales, swaying and Lydia grabs one skinny arm to steady him. He throws the knife on the floor and throws himself at her feet. Distantly, she thinks she’s done with house elves throwing themselves on the floor but pats his head.

“It’s good to see you Kreacher,” she says, which is not particularly true but she doesn’t have it in her to push him away when he starts sobbing.

“Oh, Ms. Rosier,” he whines, then exclaims between his sobs, “Master Regulus is dead!” and for some reason the sight makes her eyes prickle with unshed tears.

“I know,” she swallows around the lump in her throat and squeezes the elf’s hand.

The elf only cries harder as he hugs her waist, “Ms Rosier was the best friend Master Regulus had.”

Lydia laughs lightly, “I’m sure it was you, Kreacher. Not me.”

Kreacher gasps in indignation and shakes his head vehemently, “I no friend, Master Regulus is my owner! Mudbloods and blood traitors putting ideas into Ms. Rosier!” he screams and Lydia cuts him off with a raised hand.

“Kreacher, don’t use that language,” she reprimands him gently. The elf looks put out but he nods. She smiles and that seems to placate the elf. She asks before he starts crying again, “Where is Sirius?”

The elf’s face twists into an ugly sneer, his enormous nose twitching and he spits out, “Hides in his room all day, with a bottle of Mrs. Black’s finest, drinks it and throws her silver…”

“Thank you,” she cuts him off, and the elf curtsies, delighted to have helped her. She marches up the stairs before she can lose her courage, not slowing down when she walks past Regulus’ room.

Standing in front of Sirius’ room, she finds herself at loss to what to do next. What if he’s sleeping? What if he thinks she’s someone else and ignores it?

She chastises herself mentally and knocks on the door with her knuckles. Half of her wants to bang the door with her fists, so he has to answer but the other half wants him not to respond, so she can crawl back to her home, and hide until someone fixes her problems.

She waits, for a quite long time, her hands poised on her hips. Just when she is about to give up, the door creaks open and Sirius peeks out to see who knocked on his door. He looks downright shocked to see her, dishevelled and tired, like he hadn’t any sleep last night. He opens the door wider, when she tilts her head to the side in question, so she supposes he can’t be that angry anymore.

“Morning,” she mumbles and he nods, still speechless. She waits but he doesn’t say anything, so she gestures inside and asks, “May I come in?”

He looks back inside and grimaces but nods and steps aside, painfully slow. Her eyes take in everything, from the unmade bed, to empty whiskey bottles, to posters of half naked Muggle girls.

That’s when she realises the smell of whiskey comes from Sirius, and not from the bottle. He must be black out drunk now if he had been drinking since she left.

No wonder he agreed for her to come in when his room was in this state. He had always been hyper aware about the state of his living space when she was around, that she knows closely.

He stares at her without blinking as she takes her cloak off, a little unsteady on his feet.

Dora did not say anything about this, she thinks, making a mental note to drill her about other secrets she’s keeping from her.

She extends it for him and he snatches it from her, looking around the messy room frantically. He hastily moves some books from his desk, and two books clatter to the floor. He doesn’t make a move to remove them from the floor. Instead, he kicks them under the desk.

He places the cloak next to another empty bottle and he flushes bright red. He doesn’t offer any explanations.

“May I?” she asks again, gesturing to the bed. It’s vague because she doesn’t know what she’s asking for. But Sirius nods without asking for clarification. He watches her lower herself on the bed intensely and his hand flies up to his arm to grip tightly when she slides her hand over the silk sheets.

She wants to point out the fabric, but restrains herself. Sirius doesn’t like the reminder that he has expensive tastes.

He leans back on his desk as he keeps staring at her like he wants to carve this image into his memory and Lydia lets him take his fill. With a jolt Lydia realises she loves seeing him tie himself in knots in front of her, that it gives her a twisted pleasure that he can’t take her eyes off her. She’s teasing him.

She knows she isn’t the most principled person on earth. She is not above playing dirty. But fucking hell.

She carefully takes her hands onto her lap, wringing them like a little girl.

Finally he moves and opens the windows to let the fresh air in and she shivers when the freezing air reaches her, her thin shirt useless against the cold wind but she doesn’t object.

That’s the least of her worries.

He grabs his wand on the desk and vanishes the bottles without looking her in the eye.

She doesn’t feel comfortable not mentioning something that’s in her face, especially when it’s clearly a problem but it’ll only make him snap, so she keeps her eyes firmly on her hands. She jumps when the bed dips beside her and her head swirls to look at him. There is more than enough space between them for two people, not close enough to feel his warmth or smell the alcohol on his breath. His eyes are fixed on the biggest poster, she realises, when she follows his line of sight and she examines it with distaste. She can guess why he put these up in the first place.

“This is Elizabeth,” he says. She is taken by surprise at first, frowning at him in confusion. Sirius gestures towards the poster, a small, playful smile tugging at his lips and Lydia can’t help but be charmed at the sight. “She needed a name,” he says with a shrug, checking her reaction with the corner of his eye.

A laugh slips out of her lips unprompted, and Sirius beams with satisfaction. She pretends to think it over. “It’s boring. Not very creative on your part.”

Sirius snorts, “She’s a very boring woman, believe me.”

“That’s mean,” she balks in fake indignation and Sirius’ grin widens.

“We’re always honest with each other, Elizabeth and I,” he says seriously.

“Sounds like a healthy relationship.”

His gaze shifts sideways, his hand twitching nervously before it lays limp. They stay in an almost awkward silence before Sirius breaks the silence. “You look…” he says, looking utterly awkward, before he settles on, “nice.”

She is confused for a second by the change of subject, and the lame compliment. She looks down at herself and flushes, finding her tits basically dangling out of her shirt, and her skirt pooling upwards to reveal most of her thighs. She doesn’t even remember picking this up. She forces herself to keep still and not tug at it.

She is definitely teasing him.

Her subconscious had always had the power to take over her actions whenever she was distracted. Next thing she knows she’ll find herself sprawled naked on this exact bed.

“Thank you,” she answers, just as awkward, her fingers digging into her thighs hard enough to bruise.

They keep silent, sitting on Sirius’ unmade bed but somehow it eases the tension, knowing both of them are uncomfortable beyond words. She lets herself breathe deeply, rubbing her sweaty palms together.

She risks a glance at him, startling when she meets his gaze.

He doesn’t look away.

“I couldn’t find the ring.”

The ring.

He sounds cold and calculated but his eyes betray his feelings.

“It’s at my house, don’t worry,” she says, calm and unwavering, before she adds wryly, “unless you want it back.”

Sirius’ mask crumples for a second, and he looks like a defeated man. Like he’s crushed under countless tragedies. She knows she just kicked a man while he was down. He bows his head down but determinedly turns his gaze back at her. “Yes, I’d like it back. You were the one who didn’t want it in the first place.”

The words sit like stones in her stomach, and the feeling intensifies when he hides his face into his hand and rubs the bridge of his nose.

All she can do is nod.

They fall silent again but she can feel him bristling beside her.

“I’ve never asked Barty to give it back to you.”

That was not what she intended to say but once it’s out, she knows it was the right thing to do.

He looks at her, sharp and unforgiving but she refuses to look away. “I left it in the flat, I don’t even know why he stayed after I left,” she explains when he keeps his mouth shut. She flinches slightly, envisioning all the way her words could be perceived but there isn’t a way to sugarcoat it without lying.

“So you took it off, left it on the table for me to find it when I came back, hugged him goodbye, then left?”

He sounds like he’s reading off a script, but it chills her in her bones to hear the ice underneath.

“ _You promised me, you spineless bastard,” she begs as her hands fist into Barty’s robes and he tries to pry her fingers open to save himself from her clutches but she pushes him hard until his back connects with the wall with a thud. The impact knocks the breath out of him but he manages to grab her wrists to push her off . He makes her sit back on the sofa between kicks, murmuring reassurances softly when she starts sobbing into his chest._

“After I cut my finger off, yeah,” she admits, bracing herself for his reaction.

She expects yelling and cursing but she’s only faced with his pure horror. She shakes her head reassuringly, “He did it for me, actually,” she says and Sirius takes his head into his hands, like he’s afraid it might blow up if he doesn’t hold it. He stays like that as he rests his elbows on his knees and rocks side to side to soothe himself.

“Why?” he whimpers, desperate, and begging her to make it make sense. “I know we weren’t doing great but…”

“I asked you to come back home and you didn’t,” she says, feeling the first sparks of her anger ignite.

“Yeah, because Lily asked me to look after Harry,” he says, his head spinning to glare at her, and spreads his hands in annoyance like he doesn’t have time for this, causing a flicker of disappointment to settle in her chest.

“How many days, exactly? I asked you to come home the next evening and the next and the next and the next.” A sad smile crosses her face. “I assume you only came back when I stopped asking.”

Sirius’ eyes narrow in warning.

“You made him chop off your finger because I didn’t come home for a few days?” he asks, voice sardonic and cutting. He scoffs like he expected better than this, like she’s spewing out some excuses and Lydia forces her hand into a fist to ground herself.

“Of course not,” she sputters. “I left because I didn’t matter to you. I must have given you immense satisfaction to make me beg. I’m sure you loved it when I had to Floo James to ask for you. You should’ve known I would have a limit, though.”

Sirius looks enraged at that but shuts his mouth when Lydia cuts him off with a hand.

“Have you ever wondered why I was so desperate to talk to you?” she prompts, ready to wait for hours if that’s what it’ll take for him to take his head out of his ass.

His face turns into one big grimace. She scoffs and shakes her head, and she tosses her head back in a sharp laugh, feeling her heart grow colder at his ignorance and barely contains her urge to get up and leave.

When Sirius speaks up, his voice is croaked and pathetic. He sounds like he’s about to cry and Lydia wants to scream in delight at how the tables turned. “I feel like you’re about to break my heart.”

A grin stretches across her face, and she’s distantly aware that she dragged the conversation to this point knowingly, that she never had any intention of using this as anything other than a weapon.

“I was pregnant with your child, that’s why,” she whispers, her voice gentler than it suits her, and she watches her reflection in Sirius’ eyes like she’s in a strange dream where she got to say everything she’s been saving for years.

Sirius stares at her, his face completely blank and she patiently waits for him to grasp the whole meaning in her words. She feels like she has left her body and she is watching some actors play out a scene before her.

He starts shaking, but his face remains expressionless. She can’t be sure if he is sober enough to actually get it.

As the minutes pass, guilt starts to rise in her -her cue to leave- but she can’t make herself regret it. She gets up, holding back a sigh, gathering her cloak in her arms. She holds her head high -all show- as she walks past him; only he doesn’t allow her to leave, grabbing her wrist with surprising agility.

She stares at their hands, their complexions eerily close and it hurts a little that their first touch after all these years is so far away from friendly. Her heart beats harder and the walls she desperately tries to hold on to crumbles when his thumb caresses the inside of her wrist.

“Stay,” he says and his voice is confident enough that Lydia is taken aback by his speed of recovery. She feels torn between her urge to flee and her desperate need to stay with him. But she obeys easily enough when he tugs her closer.

He lets go of her wrist and she misses the warmth, even the harshness of it immediately. She doesn’t allow herself to dwell on it long enough to freak out and throws herself next to Sirius, far closer than before and the bed shakes with the impact. She sees Sirius’ hand resting next to her thigh, sees him watching their closeness but she doesn’t move to put some space between them.

Maybe she should’ve done this when he was sober.

“You stink,” she declares in the end, just to say something to annoy him and he looks at her, doesn’t look embarrassed in the slightest.

“I didn’t invite you.”

She shrugs, aware that she’s acting like a brat. He snorts inelegantly, and says “I thought it was Azkaban that made me stay twenty two. But you manage it on your own.”

She doesn’t argue.

“I need to sleep, I can’t think straight now,” he confesses and she bites inside her cheek to not comment on his drinking. He looks at her, amused, and says, “Don’t hurt yourself, just spit it out.”

She decides it may as well be said, “How much did you drink since I left last night?”

He laughs at her, and throws himself back on the bed, collapsing on top of the blankets. He throws his arms over his eyes and his mouth curls into a satisfied smirk. “There it is.”

“Am I amusing you?”

The smile is wiped, and he answers without a trace of humour, “Trust me, I’m not amused in the slightest.”

“Good.”

Sirius takes his arms off his face and looks at her with dropping eyelids. “Don’t leave until we talk alright?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, what am I supposed to do while you nap?” she says, because she knows what she’ll do if she stays.

“Have a nice chat with Kreacher and dear Mum for all I care,” he chuckles at his own joke. He amends quickly seeing the affronted look on her face, with a lazy, conspiring smirk. “You can organize this room, if you’d like.”

Lydia stops in her tracks, eyes sweeping the room, the huge wardrobe and the bookshelves. She says, faking nonchalance, “All right then.”

She looks back at him, sees him already drowsing off. “At least lay properly,” she says, exasperated but her heart is not in it. She throws her cloak over him, and watches him fall into a sleep that’s clearly not peaceful, with his furrowed brows and tense mouth. She yearns to lay down beside him, trace his lips with her fingers, curl into his chest but she only allows herself to look. He's not hers to touch anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really love writing them as teenagers. I love the idea of Evan Rosier having a creepy intelligence network. Everyone goes to him to tell secrets that they want out, or to get in his good books so they can learn about secrets about others. Of course, there are a lot of people coming to him telling about what Lydia does day to day.
> 
> I hope you liked the chapter!


	6. Chapter 6

_**Christmas Break 1976 (Sixth Year)** _

Sirius cautiously eyes the people milling around. The metallic taste left from his blood when he bit down on his tongue makes him nauseous but he takes deep breaths and refuses to sit down to keep an eye on his parents. They have a way of making people scrambling away just by existing, and he doesn’t want to be the last person standing because he was too distracted to notice them.

Dread burns hot inside him while Euphemia and Fleamont talk to someone animatedly, and as James chatters in his ear about their plans. He loves James' parents, he really does, but they always take their sweet time with small talk and right then, it's the last thing he needs.

This morning, they chose the department farthest away from Regulus on purpose. It feels like a defeat, to be avoiding him to that extent. Especially when Regulus hadn’t done a single thing to suggest that he ever met or heard of a person named Sirius Orion Black for the last few months.

Unfortunately, they had to walk back to find the Potters.

His mind wanders away from his family when his eyes spot Bartemius Crouch Sr, looking over at his watch every two seconds as his son drags a small trunk with his surprisingly skinny arms, considering the amount of space his father fills, followed by Lydia with her distinctive snobbish face she sported whenever she had to deal with people she didn’t like.

Crouch Sr puts a hand on his son’s shoulder, careless but lighter than his appearance would suggest, to pull him away from getting tramped by a rather large family at the last second. Lydia waits for them to pass, tapping her foot, craning her neck to see them. They have a small, hushed argument, darting glances left and right. Sirius can bet his wand it's because Crouch Sr wants to leave before he can say goodbye to Lydia, but his son wins the argument in the end. Still, Crouch Sr doesn’t allow them to hug any longer than two seconds when she finally reaches their side, and Sirius’ mood lightens up a tad at the dismayed look on Crouch Jr’s face as he’s dragged away.

They leave Lydia alone there, who glares at the man’s back, affronted by his haste to leave. She sits on her trunk, right in the middle of the station that people has to walk around her. It’s another display of her privilege, but it’s something James or Sirius would do without thinking that he can’t pretend he’s annoyed. Instead, it soothes him to see some things don’t change.

Her brother steps out of the train; ridiculously blonde, barmy, a force in itself; with his own mini-Death Eater clique. She looks over at them briefly when his voice fills the station, but she shakes it off quickly, tying her hair in a ponytail before she leans forward to rest her elbows on her knees.

 _He didn’t waste any time to slot himself into place left by his father_ , he thinks sourly. Evan Rosier stands back as he impassively watches his minions scatter away with their equally disgusting families, and casually leans back against a column. He watches Lydia with his trademark blank face. Sirius viciously thinks it’s probably because he doesn’t have any brain cells to form a coherent thought.

James, next to him, has quieted down and stares down at the same place he does.

Evan doesn’t make a move to go sit by her side, as he would’ve done a few months back. He’s noticed they haven’t been spending as much time together as they did in earlier years, which would’ve made him sleep easier if his own brother didn’t seem to take her place.

She is so lonely, he thinks, a little bit helplessly. Just this summer, he hoped for this. He _prayed_. Wanted her to drift away from Regulus, from her brother but now, her self inflicted isolation pangs every single time he sees her. He has tried to talk to her a few times in their NEWT classes, a few times at the Great Hall but everything he says sounds biting and pointed, and it doesn’t help that she’s never seems insulted and never bites back. She’s just so civil all the fucking time.

He’s been watching her on the Map, much to his friends’ amusement, and in the later months, to their mortification. She rarely leaves her dorm if it’s not for meals or library. In fact, she skips dinners more often than not. She doesn’t meet Barty in the common room and he’d assume they were cross with each other if he didn’t leech on her every chance he got, making a spectacle out of himself to draw a smile out of her.

It’s so unlike her, to be polite but distant to everyone she talks to, when she should be rude and intrusive. Her new attitude includes Snape as well, in their NEWT Charms class where they’ve been paired. On the first day, he heard Snape spew bullshit at her face but she'd been completely unresponsive to his taunts that even he had to behave himself. Hilariously, their interactions melded into something like a very proper mutually beneficial pureblood relationship. Deep contempt but too lazy to act on it.

His mood sours further when his own brother steps out to stand with Evan Rosier.

He growls, a sound that makes James jump and look at him oddly through his smudged glasses. “That’s awkward,” James murmurs, putting his hands on his hips and Sirius hums in agreement.

“Ready to go, boys?” Fleamont asks from behind them. James nods, eager to leave but Sirius stands there, glaring down at Regulus.

“Isn’t that Sirius’ girlfriend?” Euphamia asks at the background, but how she reached to that conclusion, what James told them is completely irrelevant in that moment because something jumps at Lydia’s back, making him snap out his wand in an instant, making everyone jolt and reach to their wands.

The little boy, Felix, his minds offers, hangs off her back like a monkey, his skinny arms around Lydia’s neck cutting off her air supply. Her laughter fills the emptying station, twisting to put the child down to pepper his face with kisses.

After his heart calms down a notch, he takes in the situation. Evan Rosier has his wand out, pointed at them over his siblings’ heads. Regulus’ body language is relaxed, one foot propped against the column but his head is undoubtedly angled towards them. He can feel his sharp gaze from there.

Behind him he hears Potters whisper to each other, frantic, and ignores James’ hand pulling down his wand arm insistently.

“It’s alright, Padfoot. Just her brother,” James mutters, solid and strong at his back.

She scoops up the small kid with some difficulty, slightly swinging before she gains her balance. He's blond like his brother, and he speaks rapidly over Lydia’s attempts to get a word in, their words mushing together. The boy smacks a kiss on her cheek, and turns her head with his tiny hands towards them to kiss the other cheek.

Her smile falters when she sees all of them staring at her but manages a polite nod.

His heart sinks when her grandmother appears behind them with his mother, who walks towards his other son without looking once at her firstborn. She had to have known he’d been standing there, because Walburga Black never walks away without looking down at everyone in her vicinity.

Walburga Black does not walk away before making sure Lydia is not dating anyone.

Her grandmother, Elaine, on the other hand, ignores her own grandchildren, strolls towards them like she has all the time in the world. She lays a small, gloved hand over Lydia’s elbow as she walks past her. Lydia hurriedly follows her, a slightly horrified expression on her face.

She nods curtly at the Potters, ignoring their forced questions about her wellbeing and drags her gaze over Sirius. In the background, Blacks leave without a glance back and Sirius finds he can’t breathe easier despite the pang of… He doesn’t know.

“You ruined my plans, boy,” Elaine Rosier says coldly. Three Potters shuffle closer to him, while her two grandchildren perk up at the sound of her voice, enhanced. Her expression turns into disdain. “All those years, all those hours I spent in your mother’s company to decide on a wedding date…” she drawls, taking off her sunglasses with a flourish, “all for you to run away.”

Sirius, with a blooming pressure in his chest, an emotion he can’t name, guffaws and Lydia hides a smirk in her brother’s hair. Potters relax a fraction behind him but Sirius knows it can only go downhill from there.

She shakes her head in disappointment, and for a moment she looks sad. She tilts her head to the side, her eyes narrowed and sharp. “Now I have to go and find another one.”

Her words make him retreat like he’s been slapped, while the Potters all gasp simultaneously behind them. Lydia just sighs, resigned. She, once again, doesn’t take any of this seriously.

With a cold, blinding fury, he takes a step closer, throwing his shoulders back in an attempt to tower over her. “Don’t bother. A Black boy, yes? He’s one owl away from being yours,” he snarls, his chin jerking up to motion where his brother had just been standing. “Mother would be _delighted_.”

As soon as the words leave his mouth, he knows he’s said the worst possible thing, from the way no one reacts.

Felix, who was cradling Lydia’s face like it’s a fragile porcelain, looks at him in confusion. Lydia manages a smile for her brother and leans into her grandmother’s ear to whisper something before she turns away to leave. The boy keeps staring at him over her shoulder. Evan, who’s been watching them from afar, follows her, their trunks trailing after them with a flick of his wand.

She seizes him up, and says, “I’ve thought about it. That’s not on the table.” She smiles pleasantly, “Your brother has some qualities I do not approve of.”

Sirius’ face twists, “That’s fucking rich,” he explodes, “Keep your grandson away from him then. Problem solved.”

Her smile dims for a moment before it’s restored, and she steps into his personal space, and it takes everything in him not to grab James as a shield. She takes his chin into her palm to make him look into her eyes. From the look in her eyes, he expects her grip to turn painful, maybe break his jaw in the process but it remains gentle.

“But that’s _your fucking job_ , Sirius,” she murmurs, with an expression what he’d call earnest on someone else’s face. It’s the first time she’s spoken his first name. She then cradles his face affectionately with both hands, in a way he’s seen her do with Lydia, but when she speaks, he understands she only did it to rub salt in the wound, “You would have made such beautiful children.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another flashback...
> 
> Hope you liked it!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: mentions of abortion.

A kid.

They could’ve had a kid together. A kid that’s barely younger than Harry, a kid who went to school with him, who considered him Harry to be a brother. A kid who called him dad, and called her mum.

He can’t wrap his mind around it.

She’s reading a book that looks vaguely familiar, and has a light hearted smile on that looks out of place after their talk. She swings her leg slowly in circles, and his attention diverts to her leather skirt. No pureblood he knew has ever dressed like this, except when she dressed him so they could match. He imagines what they would wear if they were still a couple. A leather jacket for him probably, but not for her. That’s as much as his imagination stretches.

She shuts the book with a snap, wincing at the sounds and peeking where he was supposed to be sleeping. She startles and shifts her gaze sideways like a kid caught with in the middle of drawing on the walls and he looks around in suspicion, noting that the room looks emptier than he expected. She straightens up with a determined expression like she is bracing herself for an argument but he doesn’t feel like it, and he knew what would happen when he gave her the permission in the first place.

“How long was I asleep?” he asks.

“Four hours.”

“Oh,” he says, “Sorry. I didn’t realise I would sleep that long.”

“It’s alright,” she assures him, a bit too nonchalant to be completely true. “I had fun,” she adds when he raises his eyebrows.

“I can see,” he lightly teases her and she allows an unsure smile to bloom on her face. He gets up, pushing her cloak off him and swings on his feet. She arches her brows, unimpressed, but doesn’t comment. “I think I still need a Sobering Potion,” he admits when the world doesn’t stop spinning.

She reaches to her bag on the floor and pulls out a small vial. She gets up, walking towards him like she doesn’t care about the extra seconds he’s suffering. She presses it into his hand, their fingers touching for a second. She looks heavenwards like she’s praying for patience when he doesn’t move. “You didn’t have any left, I popped back to my house to get one for you.”

“Thank you,” he says, only half aware how pathetic he looks. He tosses it back in one go and grimaces at the familiar oily taste.

He rubs at his temples as his head starts to throb for taking the potion two days in a row. When catches Lydia watching him her head tilted, he drops his hands and gives her a forced smile.

She doesn’t seem to realise his attempt at a smile and continues examining him with inscrutable eyes. He watches her weigh her options, biting into her bottom lip, to pry or to give him his space, even though he knows she can’t help herself.

She doesn’t surprise him. “There was a lot of that,” she points out, but it lacks the judgement that makes him bristle whenever someone else tries to talk about it.

She waits for him patiently, but he knows she is not waiting for an explanation, or an excuse so she can sleep better at night. He doesn’t feel like he has to redeem himself.

She is just being there.

It makes it easier to look at her and say, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Alright,” she accepts it easily. Her sharp gaze tells him though, that she’s aware of a problem and she’s just waiting for him to be ready to do something about it.

“Shall we have some lunch?” she asks. Her hand reaches out to him at first but she drops it. “I asked Kreacher to fix something for us.”

“Sure,” he says, grabbing their wands from the headstand and holds it out for her to take.

She distractedly takes it, her attention on his face. She takes a step closer, their chests almost touching and his senses are instantly overwhelmed by the fresh scent of her perfume. Her hand slowly reaches up to his face and her fingertips graze his cheek. He feels heat pool in his stomach at the touch, his eyelashes flutter as their eyes meet.

Then he feels her magic seeping inside him, and he distantly remembers the cut from yesterday. His breath hitches in his throat, and he leans into her touch.

“Better,” she whispers, prying her eyes away.

He takes a step back and opens the door for her, inhaling deeply as she passes him. He yanks his hand back at the last second on it’s way to her lower back.

She climbs down the stairs, her boots echoing loudly. He winces. They’ll definitely have to talk to his mother. At least Lydia is here for damage control, he thinks.

His mother inhales in dismay when she sees Lydia, taking in her clothes in disbelief but Lydia doesn’t bat an eyelash. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Black,” she says casually, like it’s quite usual for her to stay at this place, and walks straight ahead. He smothers a vindictive laugh, it would be just counterproductive if he taunted her into a screaming match. He follows Lydia inside before she can pull herself together and start one on her own.

Ignoring his mother is a lot easier when Lydia handles her.

They take their place on the table easily enough but Lydia refuses to look at him, so he goes for the jugular.

“What happened to the baby?” he asks curtly and she tenses at the question, shifting uneasily, her ears and cheeks flushing red under his gaze.

“I took a potion,” she answers after a while, still not meeting his eyes. Then clarifies, “For abortion. After I left. It was fairly early, so it didn’t cause any problems.”

He keeps quiet, trying to figure out how he feels about it. He is not angry or upset, he decides easily. Just bitter, at her and at himself. A little horrified at their recklessness.

“I’m not angry at you Lydia,” he says finally. “I’m really not,” he repeats firmly, when she pulls a disbelieving face. He hopes she’ll leave it at that. He doesn’t want another argument, not after she sucked his soul dry.

Strike, wound, let it bleed, then heal.

“I don’t know, it was still pretty selfish of me,” she says, almost defiantly, her unblinking eyes trained on him.

“I’m not saying it wasn’t,” he levels at her and turns his attention to his food. They eat in silence, but it’s more strained than last night, both of them eyeing each other for any attacks.

“That’s it?” Lydia demands suddenly, bracing her elbows on the table, gripping opposite arms. Sirius thinks about joking about her table manners but abandons the idea quickly.

“Why are you pushing it?”

“Because I want you to express how you feel right now, not a month later,” she says calmly and that sounds smart, logical. Mature.

He thinks harder, tries the words in his mind.

“I think I’m disappointed in you. In the past you, at least.”

She inhales sharply, taking her arms off the table and starts to toy with her fork with trembling fingers.

“I get it,” she says, her voice resolute but sad.

“And in myself,” he adds after a thought. “I really made a point of ignoring you.”

She nods, but looks lost and uncertain as she chews a piece.

He sighs, touching her wrist to get her to lift her face. She looks at him, her golden eyes unusually solemn. “I don’t blame you,” he starts, and sighs again, “you know why?”

She shakes her head, and watches him carefully.

“Because I would’ve asked you to abort it.”

She doesn’t seem upset at that, so he goes on, “I don’t think you would’ve done it if you thought, for one second, that I would’ve wanted you to keep it. We had already talked about it at that point, if I’m not mistaken.”

She doesn’t object but her face doesn’t change. In the end she says, “That’s unusually gracious of you. You’re letting me off the hook too easily.”

He shrugs, “We would’ve made horrible parents.” Her mouth curls into a similar self deprecating smile, then she shakes her head.

“I can’t believe this didn’t turn into a fight,” she muses, and her eyes sparkle as her lips quiver with the smile she tries to hide. He is taken aback with the sudden mood change but he feels the despair that has been his companion since he came back to this house lift slightly at the sight of her mirth.

“I’m just glad to have you here,” he forces himself to say, a terrified thrill coursing through his body at his confession and her eyes soften at that, staring at him with a tenderness that he did not expect to see.

“I’m glad to be here,” she says, just as real. She chuckles, “Though I think Remus and Dora regret ever bringing me here. Remus looked to be on the brink of a heart attack.”

“Remus was fine enough to scold me last night,” he says, unperturbed. He knows she’s still bothered that they’ve lost themselves in front of others. He can’t help himself, and says, “We’ve never fought like that in front of others before.”

She nods seriously and blows out a breath, “I believe we saved the best for the private but that was still something.”

“Right,” he says, something about her discomfort making him want to howl with laughter.

“I’m glad you’re having fun.”

Sirius leans back in his seat and sips from his glass, surprised to taste water instead of wine. He frowns at his cup, looking up at Lydia, who watches him with clever eyes.

“Overseeing my food, now?”

She doesn’t answer and sips from her glass pointedly. It almost hurts physically not to know if it’s water or wine.

“Exactly what Mrs. Black would do,” he says and cringes at his words. He’s really lost his touch over the years. But she ignores the double meaning and shots back, “Do I look your mum?”

He raises his brows, “My mum would’ve died before she wore what you’re wearing right now.”

She gasps in mock indignation, “She didn’t seem to have any problems just now!”

He rolls his eyes, rapping his knuckles on the table. “That’s because you didn’t give her any time to comprehend the situation.”

“I’m very fashionable, I’ll have you know,” she says, her nose turned up in the air. She looks snobby with her face like that.

He says so.

“It is called having a style,” she says, straining to keep a straight face but it splits into a grin quickly.

Her grin falters when she catches something over his shoulders. He looks back and almost groans in disappointment when he sees Remus, Tonks and Moody watching them like they’ve heard too much and they weren’t happy about it.

“Bring your lazy asses when you’re done,” Moody grumbles and Lydia takes a deep breath, touching his hand briefly before she follows Moody and Tonks out of the room. He grabs Lydia’s glass to sniff it and hums in surprise when he smells water.

Remus waits for him to gulp her water down as well. When he gets up and starts to the door, he stops him with a hand on his chest.

“Moody will take her to Barty today,” he warns him. “I need you to keep your wits about you.”

He nods curtly. What choice does he have, anyway?

***

Moody stares her down, and she tries not to take it personally. It’s probably not. She knows she hasn’t played an important role in his life like he did in hers but they still share too many unpleasant memories, and seeing him, remembering them makes her nauseous. And that makes her stubborn and unwilling to agreeable in return.

He doesn’t want Sirius here for this talk. Not just after they’ve found a ground of ceasefire, and had been laughing together after unpleasant revelations.

She still thinks there is a catch but she’s not going to push it anymore. If he says he’s not angry, she’ll take it.

It’s not like she was thinking about Sirius’ wishes when she took that potion, she thinks, guilt gnawing at her.

Remus and Sirius appear on the doorway and she stifles a groan. She hoped Remus would send him away. She starts bouncing her knee up and down nervously but no one tells her to cut it as they both sit down.

Should she pretend to faint?

“We’ve been trying to negotiate with Barty,” Remus startles her by speaking up, for some reason she’s been expecting Moody but it makes sense, doesn’t it; Remus starts, calming her down, shaping her up for the job before Moody chokes her with orders. “He refuses to talk unless we bring you to him.”

“Finish him off,” she repeats and ignores Sirius’ eye roll.

“He knows where Voldemort is,” Remus says, letting her comment slide and Lydia looks at them one by one and finds she is actually astonished by their optimism. She doesn’t think it’ll help her case if she insults their intelligence.

“He probably doesn’t,” she say, trying to be the voice of reason. “Honestly, I’m kind of the experienced one when it comes to him, right?” she says and doesn’t wait for affirmation. “And I say if you give him an inch and he’ll take a mile.”

Remus stops her, “I’ll rephrase. He doesn’t know where they are but he has the means to find out.”

“And you think he’ll use that means and give up his Lord and Savior, just to see my face?” she asks fiercely, “his father had to keep him under Imperus for years so he wouldn’t go look for him.”

It’s a miracle they’re still alive, she thinks, if they are this gullible all the time.

“He won’t,” Remus accepts, and Lydia focuses back on him. “But he’s truly desperate to see you.”

She raises her eyebrows and finally Remus looks away in discomfort.

Dora cuts in, “He keeps speaking your name in his sleep, and when he’s awake, when he’s demanding and when he’s just chatting amicably.”

That’s disconcerting, at best. He pointedly doesn’t look at Sirius, who is yet to say a word and pulls a face. Remus chuckles. “It would’ve been funny if it wasn’t troubling,” he mumbles.

“It was actually, for the first few months,” Dora agrees.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he has been keeping this up just to wear you out enough that you bring me to him,” Lydia says, “I can bet my life on it that he has an ulterior motive.” She catches the satisfied smile on Remus’ face and she knows they think they’ve got her in a trap.

She knows it’s them who’s walking into a trap.

“Agreed,” he says. “But I think between all of us, we can outmanoeuvre him.”

She looks for a delicate way to phrase this. “I doubt it,” she simply says in the end.

Remus leans back, entwining his fingers in his lap and stares at her with an inscrutable face. “I think you’re overestimating it.”

“Better than underestimating.”

“You’re too cautious,” Remus retorts and it sounds like an insult.

“Better be cautious than dead,” she says, her voice calm when she’s screaming inside.

“He’s not going to kill you Lydia.”

“I wouldn’t count on it.”

They all turn and stare at Moody.

“Are you going to do it or not, Rosier?” he asks, with a finality in his voice. She toys with the sleeve of her shirt, knowing she’ll do it, knows when a fight is futile. She nods in the end and tries not to whine about it, at least out loud.

“I hope this doesn’t end with any of us dead,” she says to Moody, voice devoid of any emotion. Moody nods, “We’ll do our best.”

“When?” she asks, hiding her face in her palms.

“I’d like to get it over with now.”

She sighs and nods, swallowing her complaints down. “I’m such a pushover,” she mumbles as she gets up to follow Moody and Remus gives her a smile like they’re sharing a joke, “It’s not a word I’d use to describe you.”

She ignores him, irritation surging in her at him, and Dora, who tries to hold her wrist, probably to try to assure her. Sirius gets and follows her without a word and she considers disappearing before he catches up with her, but doesn’t want to ruin their frail peace, so she waits in the hallway.

He stands tall in front of him, a respectable space between them that feels bigger than it is. He is putting a brave front for her, she realises and tries to take courage from that. “It’ll be alright,” Sirius tells her decisively, and a laugh escapes her, considering he’s probably the only one who is less happy about it than she is. He gives her a sheepish smile which she returns with considerable effort.

“I bloody well hope so,” she says tiredly, “or I’ll probably have to join you here after Barty unleashes his mates on me.”

His face creases like he’s trying to decide if he’ll like that or not.

“It’ll be alright,” she repeats and Sirius winces hearing his own words spoken at him.

“I would’ve come with you if I could, you know that, don’t you?” he says earnestly and Lydia feels herself smile genuinely this time.

“I don’t really think my life is in danger,” she assures him but her heart flutters in her chest like a dying bird, because she isn’t one hundred per cent _sure_.

“Rosier,” Moody calls out from near the door, apparently unwilling to wait for them to run in circles with affirmations. She gives him one last smile, and follows Moody out, sending a prayer to every divine power there is.

*****

She looks around like she hasn’t seen it all before as she follows Moody to their Apparation Point to avoid any conversation. She needn’t have worried. He doesn’t even stop to explain where they’re going before he extends his arm for her to hold on to. She shuts her eyes tightly before she’s twirling and squashing, feeling liquid everywhere except where she’s holding onto his arm. As soon as she feels her feet hit the floor she loosens her grip and collapses on the floor like a puppet, her knees hitting the asphalt, the skin peeling off, but the pain of it is welcome to balance out the dizziness.

He’s wearing wool, she thinks, as she heaves on the floor, her hand itching and she rubs it against her skirt. The coolness of the leather eases the crawling sensation and that’s when she realises she’s basically naked in the middle of winter.

At least the asphalt is dry, she tells herself, as she pushes herself up to her feet, brushing her hands where she has fallen down. She takes her wand out to heal the cuts on her knees, but it takes her three tries to succeed. Her clotted blood clings to her shredded tights but she can’t be arsed to fix it.

She looks up to glare at Moody, who’s watching her with a tilt to his mouth that’s supposed to be a smile. If it is, he needs the fucking practice.

“You’re horrible at this,” she blurts out. He just raises an eyebrow, which doesn’t look right on him either. Partially Evan’s fault, she reckons.

“I mean it,” she calls out when he limps away, not able to stop herself, gesturing widely with her hands, “this never happened to me before.”

He hums noncommittally and slaps a piece a paper in her open palm. She sobers up and glances at the paper. She closes her hand into a fist to reduce it to ashes. In her periphery, she becomes aware of a house.

It is tiny, like a small cottage made for the housekeeper. There is distinct vibration of wards that she can recognise but can’t name. She can probably figure out and dismantle every single one they’ve used given enough time. Not that she has any intention or reason to do that but it grounds her a bit to know that her house is about ten times more secure than their safe house where they keep one of the top Death Eaters.

She wonders who the bigger house belongs to, but she will not get an answer if she asks, and she’d like to avoid being ignored.

“Don’t mention Black, he thinks he’s in Auror custody,” Moody instructs her and she bites back a retort at that. It’s almost cute how they think Barty doesn’t know how the Auror Department works.

“Also, your wand, Ms. Rosier.” He has a disfigured palm out like expects her to obey him without hesitation.

Lydia scowls at him, “Am I to wrestle him into submission if things get out of hand?”

“I’ll be there,” he says, unimpressed with her little joke. She has to literally stop herself mid breath from reminding Moody of last year. She slaps her wand into his hand, her face burning when Moody’s knowing gaze meets hers, and smothers a hysterical laugh when her wand almost slips from his hand in defiance. She’s _proud_ of her wand. He sheaths it inside his long coat, and Lydia notes it in case she has to steal it back.

Moody taps the doorknob with his own wand, and mutters a spell she doesn’t recognise. The door creaks open, agonizingly slow and unbearably loud like it’s not sure if it should let them in. It almost seems like this house is sentient and doesn’t want her here. But Moody doesn’t give her time to dwell on this and grabs her arms to manoeuvre her inside like a doll. She thinks she shouldn’t be so cooperative, should put up a fight just for the principle of it but he reacts before she can form strategies. She wonders if this is what happened to Evan when they duelled.

He beckons her to the second door, pushing her through it without letting her any time to ready herself.

She stops in her tracks when he spots the man lying down on a narrow bed, with hands clasped behind his head as he murmurs to himself. A Muggle song, she realises, released recently. She’s not fond of it. His eyes are closed, face relaxed, _his whole body relaxed_ despite the shackles bound to all of his extremities, like he is only humouring his jailers by staying there.

She is barely aware of Moody sending his previous guard away, her head foggy like she’s in a dream where she’s going to wake up from and forget in a few hours.

“Barty,” she says, raspy and small, almost to herself, when she realises he completely blocked the outer world. His eyes fly open and his head snaps, expression blank and distant as he takes her in from head to toe.

He pushes himself to sit up, jerks his chin towards her. “Took you long enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been the most stressful week. I was in a place where a lot of people weren't wearing masks last week for a few days and I was so fucking anxious that I caught covid because my mum has diabetes. I've been wearing masks in the house except in my own room but it's really hard in this weather and I got a little bit carried away with washing my hands that I gave myself dermatitis. I got a test yesterday and it came negative but the doctor advised me to keep wearing it the next week just in case. I feel much calmer after the result came in but it's been a harsh slap of reality after not leaving the house for 3 months. I really hope this nightmare ends soon.
> 
> I hope you liked the chapter!


	8. Chapter 8

She unfreezes and walks closer, lowering herself to the chair across him. It’s still warm, she notes with mild disgust and crosses her legs to minimise the contact.

“Well,” she pauses, adjusting her skirt, “I thought you were dead.”

“Bullshit,” he drawls, mirroring her by crossing his legs. “I bet you just didn’t want to see me.”

“Are you upset with me?” she frowns, totally taken aback by the course of the conversation. She gives an indignant laugh. “How was I supposed to know? It’s not like you’ve sent me a letter to let me know you were fine.”

He shakes his shackles, “Do I look fine?”

“Fine enough.”

_You could have just come to me after you escaped your father and you wouldn’t be in this mess_.

“You could’ve reached me,” she says, trying to keep her tone casual.

He laughs, a short, cutting sound, throwing his head back with an ironic smile. “I didn’t want to push my chances.”

“Right,” she mumbles, smiling without amusement, “A snitch. That’s what I am, I guess.”

He examines her instead of replying, his eyes taking in her features, her clothes, her white knuckled hands, with a blank face before his eyes drill into hers.

She has no idea what he’s thinking.

“Would you come sit by me?” he says in the end.

Lydia stands up, the world hazy around her, because it’s such a familiar request. A voice in her head warns her not to be this complaint but this is her best friend, her Barty. Her Barty would never hurt her.

She’s not sure if this man and the boy she remembers are the same.

She sees Moody straighten up and tighten his grip on his wand but he doesn’t warn her to stop, so she goes on.

Her knees wobble slightly as she crosses the small space between them and sits down next to him. The bed is too springy and she slides down as it bends towards the middle.

She wonders if they just hauled the most vile furniture they could find in Grimmauld Place. It sounds like something Sirius would do.

She’s closer than she feels comfortable with but she doesn’t fidget. She can feel warmth radiating off his arm. He had always been like a furnace, warming up her feet in the chilly castle as they sat together in the common room.

He doesn’t say anything else, just angles his head towards her as if he’s waiting for her to talk and doesn’t want to miss a single vowel.

She doesn’t know what to say, so she grabs the hand in his lap and tangles their fingers. They’re warm and thinner than her own. He’s skinnier than she ever saw him, skinnier than Sirius is now.

“Are you mad at me?”

She startles, not expecting this in the slightest. She doesn’t know if he’s earnest. In the past, she never would’ve questioned his intentions.

Their eyes meet, and his face is still too calm, too constructed to be genuine but she drinks it in, tightening her fingers.

“I was,” she confesses, “just not anymore.”

His mouth twitches, “Guess you haven’t heard what I’ve been up to.”

Her stomach flip at the sight of that barely there smile but bites back hers. She cocks an eyebrow. “I heard all about it. You fucked up big time, didn’t you?”

He barks out a laugh, delighted, and tugs her closer until he can hide his face into the crook of her neck, filled to the brim with anxious energy like he used to be when he was just a little boy, and Lydia lays her head over his reflexively. “I did not,” he objects, smug and easy. He leans back to look into her face, covering her hand with both hands now.

“Caught and prisoned. I’d count that as failure,” she argues confidently, while inside, her heart pounds with anxiety at the glint in his eyes.

“What matters is the mission, Lyd,” he says, pausing for the effect, “not the soldiers.”

Her smile drops from her face, her body chilling down to her bones and she watches him regret the words, his playful expression turning blank again.

You could’ve been Kissed, she thinks. Instead, she says, “I was under the impression you were in for a man, not for a cause.”

They stare at each other with sour faces and she tugs her hand free when it becomes too much to be that close to him. She stands up, starting to roam the small room, as two men watch her closely.

She looks at Barty sharply. “What did you want me for?”

He shrugs, “Missed you.” He falls silent when her mouth twists into a sneer. He’s just taunting her, just wants his revenge, just wants to punish her. She is a fool for ever thinking this was anything other than what it is. She waits, hating herself for the prickling behind her eyes, and the flush on her cheeks. Her mouth purses and she chews inside her cheeks hard enough to taste blood as she glares at Moody.

“These guys seem to have misconceptions about me. I hoped you’d set them straight,” he says casually.

Irritation flares in her chest. She rolls her eyes so hard that she feels dizzy for a second. She cannot believe she was dragged here for this.

He drowns out her voice when she opens her mouth, “I’m joking, Merlin, Lyd, you used to be lot more fun. Just wanted to see you, I swear. That’s all. Before anything happens.”

She huffs in annoyance, her stomach constricting when she understands his words. She shakes her head, arms crossed so she can grab her arms to ground herself. “Before anything happens,” she repeats sarcastically and strides towards him, grabbing him by the chin to make him look up to her.

She leans down, her hair falling down towards his face and he holds his breath, never taking his eyes off her. “I can break you the way Azkaban or your father couldn’t do,” she whispers, her nails biting into his flesh. The urge to slap him gets stronger by second and it almost becomes uncontrollable when he chuckles, unconcerned, tilting his face closer to her, “You can’t Lyd, you have a soft spot for me.”

She pushes him away, and takes a step back. “One memory. That’s all it takes.”

His mouth curls into a sweet smile, and he suddenly looks a lot more like the boy she remembers. “You’ve gotten a lot better at this,” he mumbles.

“At what, threatening people?”

“No, that’s still mediocre at best.” He actually has the nerve to laugh. “It shows your heart’s not in it. I meant your Occlumency.”

She exhales loudly through her nose. “You have yourself to thank for that.”

“You’re taking the easy way out if you blame me for what happened to you,” he says coldly, narrowing his eyes at her for a second before he relaxes again.

He twists his head from side to side, as if he has a stiff neck. She doesn’t buy his casual demeanour, not when it’s at odds with his piercing eyes. She can’t say for sure if he knows something or just a general assumption.

“I don’t blame you,” she says, choosing her words carefully, “for every thing that I couldn’t control, there was another thing that was my choice. I’ve had a lot of time to reflect on my life, on my mistakes, you see,” she says, sarcasm creeping into her voice without her permission, “after all, it’s all our choices that we’re going to be judged with, not the things that happened to us.”

He doesn’t seem moved. “Sentimentality doesn’t become you,” he dismisses. “It is all neural pathways and hormones and all those other bits I couldn’t be arsed to learn about, isn’t it? What our father thought about when he fucked that time that we were conceived, what our mother ate when she was pregnant and the amount of people that touched us, every single thought that ever crossed our minds, every word we heard, every incident we witnessed that shapes your brain and our brain shapes our magic and then our magic shapes our life.” He pants in the end, his voice having risen with each word, tumbling out of his mouth like his lips can’t keep up with his ever whirling brain.

She doesn’t understand at first, how their drunken adolescent ramblings tie to their situation now. It’s things _she_ has argued for before, things they’ve discussed and never agreed on. These are her words, recited at her verbatim. But Barty has never been a believer in fate, or a divine power or anything beyond human will. He always thought there must be an explanation, a science, a theory that explained everything we didn’t understand.

It hits her a bit late but with a bang, but he had always been a step ahead of her.

He’s terrified, she realises, afraid that she’s changed and their relationship will never be same again. She scoffs inwardly, she’s a bit too old and worn out to fall for ideas of grand unconditional love that resists anything that’s thrown at it. She paid the price to be the person she is now and not the emotional disaster that she was when he last saw her.

She’s heard him go on tirades on topics he was passionate about, and she used love listening to him, hearing him turn a seemingly dull topic into something brilliant but now there’s an edge to it that unsettles her. He is sharp and dangerous, instead of vibrant. “Every choice that you made was a result of everything that has happened,” he says coolly, recovering from his outburst, “and it can not be undone. It happens exactly as it is supposed to happen.”

She stares at him evenly, then a laugh bubbles out of her. It makes a lot of sense in that moment, between his fascination with things that were beyond their understanding, and his desire to be a part of a pact that can’t be broken. His yearning to be noticed and be irreplaceable.

She doesn’t say any of that. “I guess you haven’t been up to date with new revelations in psychiatry or neurology. Muggles are truly fascinating sometimes,” she says lightly. She kneels down in front of him, her face morphed into condescension. “These are all very comfortable excuses and I’m confident you can shape up this speech into something more striking and moving. I know you’re charismatic and clever enough to find people to buy into this bullshit we created when we were teenagers and angry at the anyone that ever existed but this world,” she stresses out the word, “doesn’t care if daddy was a prick.”

He stares at her with an indescribable expression, his eyes huge on his gaunt face. But instead of retreating to lick his wounds, his face glows. “There it is,” he whispers, “your core essence, the thing that made you spark. This sheer ruthlessness. My absolute favourite thing about you.” There’s a glint in his eyes that rings alarm bells go off but she forces herself to stay still.

“Don’t fool yourself,” she spats, “Your favourite thing about me was always that you used to be exempt of that ruthlessness you claim to have loved. That soft spot for you. It has nothing to do with me and everything to do with your desire to be special.”

He recoils, shock flittering across his face. She stands up, putting some space between them, suddenly having a hard time breathing. It feels so strange to feel this way in his presence, when he’d always been a source of assurance and light in her life.

“Why?” she whispers, tired of beating around the bush, and trying not to show how much this question costs her.

He swallows but there is not an ounce of regret on his face when he lifts his face to stare at her, just disappointment. “If you have to ask me that, you have no business knowing.”

She thinks, you don’t have the faintest idea how many ideas I have on this. How many hours I spent going through our conversations to see what I missed. How many excuses I made for you.

“If it comes to that,” she starts, pushing her pathetic thoughts aside, but her voice still cracks in the end. She clears her throat and continues with more fire in her voice, “ _When_ it comes to that, I will fight you Barty. And I won’t hold back.”

_I don’t want to hurt you._

“I know,” he says solemnly, “I’ll just have to make sure you don’t have the opportunity.”

_Don’t let me hurt you. Don’t make me choose._

“Make sure I don’t have a reason.”

_I can’t live with myself if I have to be the one to do it._

Barty stares at her, with a sorrow and remorse that scares her and makes her hate herself because she feels just the same, but in the end he shakes his head, “I can’t promise you that.”

Disappointment courses through her, leaving her aching and bitter.

She thinks it would hurt less if her ribs were broken instead.

“I’m glad we reached an understanding,” she says with calmness she does not feel in the slightest. She jumps a little when Moody’s hand grasps her shoulder. He hands her her wand and she nods at him and leaves without sparing another look at Barty.

***

He doesn’t grab a drink as soon as they leave but only because she might come back. Instead, he opens the letter from Harry Remus brought and reads it three times, his unease increasing with each read. He doesn’t have to read between lines to see Harry’s desperation to keep Voldemort away from his mind, and his short temper with people around him, only fuelled by teenage hormones.

He replies, his handwriting much more readable than his usual hurried script. It morphs into the style Blacks prefer the more he slows down but it passes time, so he sticks with it until the end.

“Dora said Lydia is pretty decent with Occlumency,” Remus says when he shares his worries as gives his letter to Remus to be sent with an owl.

He looks up in interest. “You’re going to ask her to help with Harry?”

Remus shrugs, “Well, we need to talk to Dumbledore first. We wanted to see if you two could stand to stay in the same room first.”

Sirius bristles inside a little bit at that, but tampers it down. They will only keep on treating him like a bloody child if he throws a tantrum. “I would’ve been civil for Harry even if I couldn’t stand the sight of her.”

Remus is unbothered by his tone, and says, “Thank Merlin that’s not the case.”

Sirius bows his head down to hide his annoyance and reaches to the cigarette pack on the shelves. He passes one to Remus, who surprisingly takes it. He takes a long drag and pretends he doesn’t realise Remus is watching.

“I know you don’t like this.”

“Of course I don’t,” Sirius blows a puff of smoke through his nostrils, making Remus’ lips quiver at the sight, “if it were up to me I’d slit his throat without a second thought.”

Remus rolls his eyes, “That’s why you’re never going to be in his presence.”

He bites down any retorts that ranges from ‘you’re sending her in as bait’ to ‘I fucking hate him’. He taps his cigarette into an ashtray to decide on what to say. “You’re all focusing on the wrong parts.” His voice is reasonably calm, he thinks.

Remus looks doubtful but motions him to continue.

“It seems to me you’ve all forgotten who revived Voldemort,” he says, leaning in to look into Remus’ tired eyes, “who teamed up with _Peter_ to literally spoon feed Voldemort, who sent Harry to him like a lamb to slaughter. Moony, this is the man who tricked every single person he came across. And Lydia has never been objective when it came to him. She believes every word that comes out of his mouth.”

Remus stares at him with an unreadable face. Then his mask falls. “I know,” he says frustrated, tugging at his hair, “why do you think we’ve waited this long until we asked her? It’s not even that I think for a second she’d help him out, but he’s a bloody Legilimens.”

Sirius’ head throbs with the new information, “When did he even have the time to learn?”

Remus shrugs helplessly, pushing a stubborn strand of hair away from his eyes, “We’ve only noticed after two months, that every time one of us had a go at him, we’d go a little bit more sympathetic towards him.”

“Merlin,” he murmurs, massaging his temples against the incoming headache. “Did you get anything out of it at least?”

Remus shakes his head, and hesitates almost non-noticeably before he explains, “I don’t know if it’s his version of Occlumency but for me it was all Dementors. Dora said she felt like she was under Imperius. Kingsley said he felt sleep paralyzed.”

It sounds familiar to him, like it fits a concept but it is just out of his reach. It could even be something his family talked about. Merlin knows it sounds like something they’d be interested in.

“We don’t even know if he’s doing it on purpose or if he’s really fucked up like that,” he groans into his hands, and Sirius can’t decide which one sounds worse for them.

“We wasted two vials of Varitaserum on him,” Remus goes on, words pressed together, and it dawns to Sirius that he’s been kept in the dark for months. They’ve been looking into his eyes and lying to him whenever they talked about their days, their problems. Remus looks stressed out and miserable and old, and Sirius thinks _, good_. “He was probably caught off guard the first time, high on getting Voldemort a new body and we never got anything else out of him after.”

“What’s she supposed to do then?”

“The timing, I suppose,” he shrugs but it’s obvious he doesn’t believe in what he’s saying either, “he’ll try to do something, but we’ll be waiting, at least.”

Sirius snorts, “That’s bollocks. You’re going in all blind.”

“The point is,” Remus presses out, “we think he’s going to try something sooner or later, and we have to try everything.”

“You never know how dangerous someone is until you trap them into a corner,” he warns, “just look what Peter. This is going to backfire.”

“He doesn’t act like someone who’s trapped.”

“I’ve listened to him in Azkaban, Remus,” he smirks humourlessly, “I doubt any of you are as scary as a Dementor.”

“Sorry,” Remus mumbles, as he reaches for another cigarette.

“Nah,” he says waving his hand.

_He can see Crouch if they both lean out of the bars, as they’ve figured it out on Crouch’s second day on a screaming match. The cell between them is empty, but they’ll put it to use if they can actually catch someone worthwhile. He wonders, who would be considered worthwhile? Lucius Malfoy? Evan Rosier?_

_Would Regulus, if he had lived?_

_Crouch always screams until he passes out from the lack of oxygen. First day, it took him hours to pass out but by the end of first year, he barely lasts two minutes. The only time he’s awake and subsided is when the Dementors leave for the guards to levitate their meals in and out of their cells. A total of three minutes each day._

_And for that three minutes they talk, hurried and desperate, a plea to remember._

_He calls him Sirius, and in return he calls him Barty._

_“I’m not a Death Eater,” Sirius says one day, and Barty snorts. “I know that,” he says, then adds, “you should’ve taken the Veritaserum when they offered. There’s nothing honourable rotting in here. Merlin knows I tried everything to evade this place.”_

_Sirius doesn’t answer because he has no fucking idea, has he? No idea what he’s caused._

_“Did you take it then?” he shots back but it lacks heat._

_“Wouldn’t help me in the slightest, trust me.”_

_It’s the worst and the best time of his days._

_He wonders if they’ve done it on purpose, to add a flavour to his torture._

Remus exhales, lighting up his cigarette. “I have a bad feeling about this,” he confesses, his eyes lifting for a second.

“Why did you all throttle her at once until she gave in, then?” he snaps.

“Moody insisted,” Remus sighs, “I think he was the one to interrogate her about the Death Eaters. They must’ve talked about Barty as well.”

Sirius waits for him to continue but nothing comes. “Obviously. How does that help?”

“I’ve got no idea,” Remus concedes with a helpless shrug, “no love lost between them though.”

Sirius snorts, surprised to hear his friend coming up to an opposite conclusion, “I think Moody likes her.”

“No way.”

Sirius shakes his head, “No way he’d take her to Crouch if he didn’t trust her.”

Remus regards him with shrewdness. “Maybe you should ask her.”

“I don’t fancy another fight,” he says, leaning his head back and closing his eyes.

“That’s new.”

“Well, I never win any fights with her. What’s the point?”

“That’s really mature,” Tonks’ voice interrupts their talk, and Sirius is once again glad to have her back, because he knew Remus was about to ask about earlier today. “Moody’s back.”

“Where is Lydia?” Sirius asks. Moody trails inside, tearing through the door and waking his mother up in the process. The door bangs closed behind him, rattling the decorations on the wall.

“Sent her off earlier,” he says gruffly, his face grimmer than usual as he sits down. Sirius keeps a straight face but irritation surges inside him, and he counts backwards from hundred to busy himself.

“How did it go?” Remus asks, shaking his leg up and down. Tonks puts an elbow on his shoulder and Remus sends her a grateful look.

He looks the other way, an ugly creature growing under his ribcage at the sight of them.

“He said something about wanting to see her before anything happened.”

The temperature drops in the room, and Moody glares at the table, sinking further into his seat. “We need to double the security.”

Sirius snorts, his mouth half hidden by his hand, “At this rate, you’ll ask me to babysit him.”

“No way,” Tonks laughs, “he’d drive you insane.”

_Halfway there_ , Sirius thinks but he doesn’t voice it. He’s still grateful she makes it their relationship the reason, not his imprisonment in this bloody house.

“How upset is she?” Tonks asks, and Sirius knows if he was Padfoot now, his ears would be straight in the air.

Moody grunts in pain as he unties the rope around his leg. “She was pretty shaken.”

Sirius grits his teeth as he glares at everyone one by one, but they don’t take notice.

“What did he say?”

Moody shakes his head like he still can’t wrap his head around it. “Tons of bullshit. All brand new.”

“So is it not a good time to bring up Occlumency lessons?” Remus asks looking up at Tonks, and Sirius realises the urge to knock him out still lingers at the edge of his thoughts.

“Nah, I’ll ask her,” Tonks waves off his concern, and jerks his chin at Moody, “you’ll talk to Dumbledore?”

Moody nods. Tonks hops up and says, “I should go now if I want to catch her. She doesn’t appreciate her night routine to be interrupted.”

“Wait,” Sirius says impulsively and grabs his quill to scribble down his note. He puts a simple charm on it, and hands it to Tonks. “You mind?”

“No, not at all,” Tonks says neutrally, which makes him suspicious instantly.

“Do not open it.” He knows his warning falls on deaf ears when she turns it in her hand in great interest.

“Of course not,” she chirps and slides it into her pocket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And Lydia and Barty finally meet again. It took more than I would've guessed in the beginning of this story but flashbacks happened.
> 
> Hope you liked it!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: offhand remark about selfharm.

Lydia doesn’t respond to his letter, if it can be called that. _You can come by anytime you want._ Tonks assured him she read it but she wasn’t in any state to respond.

“She ushered me out before I could ask about Occlumecy,” she says. He doesn’t ask if she was more upset or angry.

After, he learns from Remus that she agreed to help, and Dumbledore was in as well.

Sirius’ life, in an instant, is full.

He drives Kreacher into work, making the elf clean every deep corner of the house, up to her standards. The creature does not get a moment to stop and be nasty to anyone, or polish his mother’s portrait. His frustration is unmistakable and it satisfies him more than it should.

He gets rid of some of the remaining artefacts, but mostly hands them off to Remus. He drinks mildly, for him at least, sticking to wine instead of hard liquors.

His mother even asks him, in an amiable tone, if he’s expecting guests.

When the weekend rolls in, he finally admits to himself he feels like he’s about to introduce his son and his future step mother. Neither will ever hear this, if he has anything to say about it.

He gets up earlier than he did since he came to this house, and anxiously hovers next to Molly, who makes him eat things he doesn’t taste. He’s surprised her maternal instincts cover him as well, considering they antagonised each other almost every time they crossed paths.

Lydia comes over just after Snape and Harry appear, identical expressions of disgust on both their faces, the latter looking like he’d rather be cleaning the boys’ restroom in Quidditch stands than spend another second with Snape.

He and Snape ignore each other as Snape, who –theoretically- hands his godsgon to him, walks away as far as the room lets him. This might just be the only thing they agree on, not to talk, unless it’s a matter of death. Everyone is aware and glad of this unspoken pact.

He is still hugging Harry, when he notices her, the only person he hasn’t met before, and he confirms it for him. “That’s Lydia, she’ll help you with the link,” he assures, squeezing his shoulder.

“I hope so,” his godson mutters, and guilt hits full force for not finding a solution sooner. Not that he had anything to do with this one. Harry is crowded by Molly Weasley after that, and he lets her take him away without protest, in his urgency to talk to her.

He walks straight to Lydia, who looks so out of place in a room filled with Order members, sitting by the windowsill again.

“Hey,” he says, as he sits down, their thighs touching briefly before he corrects himself. Her cheeks are flushed, as she yanks her sweater over to cool off. She smiles awkwardly at him as she drags her palms over her legs. The sight awakens some memories, of her hesitant acceptance of him, more than fifteen years ago. She was always more transparent when she was flustered.

“Hey,” she greets him, flashing her teeth with a quick smile, “I’m sorry for not coming sooner.”

He shakes his head quickly, even though he was mulling over it for the whole week. There is this urge to demand explanations but he’s not going to stick his nose into where it doesn’t belong. “You don’t have to.” The words sound hollow even to his ears.

“Did Dora say something to you?”

“No,” he says slowly, his eyes narrowing at his cousin, who looks at them with a wide grin, “why?”

Lydia sighs, “I went to France,” she says quickly, shifting her eyes away. She looks guilty, he realises, then remembers what he said to her last week.

“For what?” he asks, trying to keep his face friendly.

She presses her lips together in thought -fuchsia today- her head tilted sideways, her earring catching light with her movement. Real diamonds. She has her hair up in a bun, revealing her neck and collarbones. She looks a lot younger than she is, with a light pink sweater and light blue jeans. He feels like he’s tainting the image just by standing next to her, with his wrinkles, the white in his beard, his chapped lips. The familiar scent of her perfume floods his senses, the freshness of it making him feel like he’s slept much better than he did.

“I don’t know,” she shrugs, as she lifts her eyes to look at him, “I was supposed to visit Felix but I didn’t even go see him.”

“He’ll understand,” he says, just to say something comforting. He’s distracted by her closeness, and his body locks up when her breast grazes his arm as she shifts to turn her body towards him, curling one leg under the other, both her knees digging into his outer thigh. She had always been more casual with touches than he has ever been, he could never tell if they were intentional.

She laughs, oblivious of the effect she has over him. “Yeah, he came to me two days ago,” she says, lifting her hand to swat at his shirt. She leans into him like she’s giving him a secret. “Brought my niece too, for womanly advice,” she adds, her mouth quivering, “she has a crush.”

He thinks he probably looks ridiculous, with his hands primly on his lap to keep from touching her, staring up at her with a lopsided smile. He doesn’t care even when he knows Harry and Snape and all of the Order are watching him losing his shit just sitting next to her, having a casual chat.

“You should have given her a magazine,” he says, nudging her with his elbow.

Her eyes gleam with amusement, “She doesn’t even know how to read.”

“Better yet that she doesn’t learn if that’s what she’s going to read.”

His eyes catch Harry’s, who gives him a confused and hesitant smile across the room, his sharp gaze watching their exchange. He returns the smile and Lydia turns her head to look over at him. She nods, and Harry nods back.

Sirius snorts at the formality.

“It’s uncanny,” Lydia whispers when she looks back at him, her eyes wide.

“I know,” Sirius forces a smile, trying to gather his thoughts. At first, he revelled in how much Harry looked like James and Lily, but now it makes him a bit sick, with the imminent threat over their heads that his end might look like theirs as well. “Don’t mention it to him though, he’s sick of hearing it.”

She hums thoughtfully, sneaking a glance at his godson, and Sirius realises she’s getting in the mood to work.

Remus grabs Harry by the shoulders and sends Sirius a meaningful look, which Lydia catches. They follow them out of the room and he feels everyone’s gazes at their backs.

His hand hovers over her back but he snatches it back, his hand falling by his side in a fist. Remus salutes her with a wink and leaves the room. As Remus closes the door, she shoots Sirius a look, looking antsy and ready to bolt.

She turns to Harry suddenly, and Harry tries to smile, looking like the adolescent he is, awkward in his skin.

“Harry, hello,” she greets him, sounding overly enthusiastic for some reason, at odds with her earlier interaction with Harry. She extends a hand for him to shake. “Lydia Rosier,” she adds after a beat and Sirius watches his godson frown in to remember where he’s heard it.

“Like Evan Rosier?” he asks when he releases her hand. He wants to bury his face into his hands and his heart dips in his chest when Lydia’s face drops at the mention. She regains her smile back momentarily but it’s obvious that her mood soured.

“Karkaroff mentioned him to Crouch Sr during his trial,” he offers. Lydia’s eyes squint and Harry shifts his weight from one foot to other, shooting a glance at Sirius.

He smothers a groan, rubbing his neck as Lydia looks at him like she’s disappointed in him. He feels like a fool for not warning Harry in the first place, but what was he supposed to do, give out a list of people not to mention? His first instinct is to elbow her in her side to get her moving but he doesn’t want her to slap him away in front of his godson.

“That’s neat,” she says dryly, brows arched. “Did you ask him to say that?”

Harry lets out an indignant sound but Lydia ignores him, holding up a finger to hush him, and Harry complies, due to shock more than anything. He laughs then, at the absurdity, and harder when she swats at him lightly on his shoulder.

“I wish, that would’ve been very sly on my part but this is far more hilarious. Spontaneity and all that,” he admits as she throws them both scathing looks.

“I wish you were as hilarious as you fancied yourself to be.”

He sometimes wishes he could stop himself from talking but her tone spurs him on. “I do have my moments,” he says with a sweet smile that she doesn’t reciprocate.

He addresses Harry. “Sorry. It’s not your fault. Evan was her brother and Crouch Jr is her best mate,” he explains and the understanding downs on his face and he looks guiltily at Lydia.

He waits for Lydia to correct her on best mate part, but she doesn’t and he feels like he just scored against his own team.

“Your best mate?” Harry asks with arched brows like he thinks Sirius is screwing with him. His tone conveys his thoughts on the matter.

“Thought you liked him well enough last year?” Lydia replies. Harry leans back in surprise and looks taken aback.

“I did,” he says with narrowed eyes after a pause, “until it turned out that he’s been plotting to send me to Voldemort all along.”

Lydia shrugs, “I think you ought to be more angry with Dumbledore than Barty, since he’s actually supposed to protect you.”

“Don’t defend him,” he interjects before it can escalate, and gives Lydia a serious look, “She doesn’t like that Barty is a Death Eater as much as Bellatrix.”

A silence falls over them. Her mouth turns downwards in a sneer but she erases it, probably for the audience’s sake. He doesn’t miss the furious glint in her eyes but she nods, with a distant look on her face that he doesn’t like or recognize.

She returns her attention back to Harry. “I apologise, Harry, if I offended. But I was not taunting you,” she says, her back to Sirius. “I do believe you’d do well to think over what I said.”

“It’s alright,” he accepts it easily, “nothing I haven’t thought myself.”

“Smart boy,” she says, with an audible smile in her voice, and when Harry returns it after a second, it looks genuine. She straightens, and asks seriously, “Do you want Sirius here for this?”

Harry looks at him, indecisive. Sirius laughs, and Harry’s expression turns sheepish. “It’s alright either way, Harry.”

“I think I’d rather do this alone,” he says after a moment of deliberation, looking equally guilty and defiant. He nods, feeling a little bit put off, but tries his best not to show it as he leaves.

***

Half of the tension leaves her shoulders as soon as she hears the door click shut. She adjusts her jeans as she allows her “student” take his time, and they seize each other up for a few seconds.

“Are you two together?”

The question takes her with surprise and she barks out a laugh. “No,” she says simply, and smirks when Harry raises his brows sceptically. “Any other invasive questions before we start?”

His face flushes and he sticks his hands between his thighs, but she doesn’t say anything to relieve him.

“We met before,” she changes the subject, gesturing the two of them and Harry looks surprised.

“I don’t remember it.”

She laughs again, “You wouldn’t. You were like eight months old the last time I saw you.”

“Oh,” he exhales, looking up at her with different eyes. “You were friends with my parents?”

“Not really,” she tells him, noting the disappointment in his face. “I was with Sirius at the time. We looked after you when your parents weren’t available.”

The disappointment clears and he looks mischievous and pleased with himself, then he frowns. “You look young.”

“I’m from the same year with Sirius and your parents,” she says, biting her lips to not laugh at his face. She’s heard it countless other times, owing to her dedication of putting on make up every morning.

An abashed look crosses his face but he nods, satisfied with her answer. “What happened then?”

“We broke up, Sirius and I.”

Harry purses his lips, his eyes assessing her, more clever than she would expect. He doesn’t say anything further.

“That’s good Harry.”

“What?”

“You wanted to ask but refrained,” she explains. “Occlumecy is all about that. Control.”

His face flushes with the praise and he gives her a small smile, “I don’t think that something comes naturally to me.”

“It didn’t come naturally to me either,” she says, confessing easily, taking her wand out of her waistband. She taps the tip into her palm. “I had to.”

She waits for him to ask and her mouth curls into a smile when he doesn’t.

“When I first started this, I had a lot of time,” she says, “and my healer told me I was lucky. This is not something to be rushed. But I understand we’re on a schedule here. I’ll tell you your options, and you can choose. But I believe you should discuss it with someone else as well.”

He looks a little bit scared at her description but nods, ready to deal with anything that’s thrown at him. Anger replaces amusement when she remembers exactly how old this boy is.

Dumbledore might think he’s better than the Dark Lord but he didn’t have better morals when it came to underage soldiers.

“One of the methods is turning your mind into a metaphor,” she says, pushing the vicious thoughts aside. He turns this over in his head. “There are a lot of options of course, you can make it a movie theatre filled with people, each of them representing something, a letter in their pocket, a ring, or a jungle, every tree, every animal a different memory. A house, with endless rooms, with keys locked into another room. A sea, with your memories in some shark’s stomach. A museum, your secrets just a minor detail in a small painting. Anything you can imagine.”

He looks overwhelmed as he tugs at his collar. “Tell me this is the harder one.”

She smiles and nods. “It is. But this is what I prefer to do for myself. It is safer, and I believe, more humane.”

He opens his mouth, and she sees the question in his eyes but he shuts his mouth with a click.

“What about the other ones?”

“Well, another one is imagining separating your consciousness. It is sometimes called depersonalisation. It’s quite a bit different from Muggle definition, though,” she says, trying to sound indifferent. She watches his expression twist with displeasure. “You make another identity in your mind, a guard, a protector. This part of you protects your real identity, Harry Potter. You can imagine this real Harry Potter as a baby, or as a kitten, or a house. But you’ll need to distant yourself from the part you’re protecting. Making it someone you love, it just leaves openings. Making it something you value, it leaves you even more vulnerable. It has to be about a mission and nothing else.”

“It sounds hard, as well,” he murmurs.

“Not really,” she says, “but it’s not a very long term solution. It’s easy to grasp but so easy to get lost in it, in the freedom it brings, forgetting the bad memories and becoming something else.”

“Thus the less humane part of it,” he looks at her for confirmation. She nods appreciatively.

They stand in silence for some moments. “I did the latter in the beginning.” He doesn’t look up but she knows he’s listening. “It was liberating. No hurt. No resentment. But it’s a very hard balance to keep, something I couldn’t manage.”

“How did you get out of it?” he asks. She doesn’t point out his lack of control because it’s more important that he understands the stakes.

“I didn’t,” she says simply, “my family put me in St. Mungo’s. Took me about five months to get back my memories, a lot longer to be myself again, if it can be called that.”

Harry stays silent, contemplating everything she told him. “What do you suggest?”

She shakes her head firmly. “I’m here to state facts. You’ll chose for yourself. We could try going for Snape’s method, after we remove the emotional package you two seem to carry. But I’ll have to talk to him first.”

“Maybe I should call for Sirius now,” Harry declares, his eyes wide behind his glasses and Lydia shoos him out.

She doesn’t wait for long, and Harry pants like he sprinted back and forth, a bewildered Sirius behind him. Harry rehashes their talk with surprising efficacy, and Sirius looks more distressed with each word. He looks at her with panic over Harry’s head but he schools his face into a smile when Harry looks back at him.

“What do you suggest?”

She sighs, sharing a pointed look with Harry. She hides a smile when Sirius frowns at them in confusion. “Well, the metaphor is a lot safer in the long term for the mind, as you can guess. But it’s quite advanced and requires patience and it is never perfect. It is more about keeping your head organised and healthy than protecting it from outside forces. Distancing yourself is marginally easier but it’s disorienting and dangerous to keep using,” she stresses out, “You are going to be alienating yourself from yourself. That’s not inconsequential.”

“How long creating this metaphor takes?” Sirius asks, staring at her attentively, like he’s piecing a puzzle together.

“I’m still creating it,” she mumbles, and Sirius nods like he expected this.

“How long is dangerous?”

“Depends on how much you hate your own mind.”

“Merlin,” Sirius chokes out, tugging at his hair, showing his true emotions in front of Harry for the first time as far as she’s seen them together. He recovers quickly and opens his mouth to say something but stops himself before it leaves his mouth.

“What I suggest is,” she intervenes, “that I teach him distancing for emergencies but that we keep working on something else to use it as a basis. And there are Muggle medicine we can use that wizards are not familiar with but works really well as a support.”

“I don’t want to do it with Snape,” Harry blurts, and Sirius jaw locks. She nods before Sirius can say anything. “I know, I’ll try my best. I’ll talk to him now for a second opinion, alright? We didn’t have time to discuss.”

“Thank you,” Harry says with a grateful sigh.

***

Dementors, Imperius, sleep paralysis and separation echo in his head over and over.

Once he heard Harry talking about it, it was obvious. So easy to make the connections that he can’t be sure he’s not making this up.

He wonders when Crouch started using this kind of Occlumency and where did he learn. From the way she talked, it was clear to him that she had personal experience, which made it more plausible that they learned together.

Harry looks lost in his thoughts, nibbling on a thumb as they wait for her to talk to Snape. He doesn’t have much hope that it’ll go well.

“I like her.”

Sirius looks over at Harry, who looks mischievous, of all things.

“Yeah? Me too.”

“I gathered that,” Harry teases with an easy laugh, a sound that makes him smile despite his embarrassment.

“Did you two gossip?” Sirius smirks, but he’s curious to hear what they talked about.

Harry gives him a teeny smile. “I asked but she didn’t say much. Just that you two used to look after me.”

Sirius laughs despite feeling every breath he takes is a battle with his lungs. “She used to make you laugh like no one else. Pretty bad at feeding you or putting you to sleep, though. That was all me.”

Harry swallows, his eyes looking suspiciously bright. He looks sideways before looking directly into his eyes again. “She makes you laugh too.”

Sirius doesn’t deny, but doesn’t start explaining he yearns for her affection like a starved stray dog. He wonders when he started looking so miserable that did his godson urges him for a girlfriend.

“Wouldn’t you want to be with her again?” Harry insists, with a desperate edge to his voice.

“Oh, Harry,” he breathes, feeling like his chest is split open, to hear the question he hasn’t allowed himself to ask, “what I want is not the problem.”

“But did you ask?”

“It wouldn’t be fair to her,” Sirius says, trying to keep his calm. He doesn’t understand why Harry is fixated on this. Harry turns his head away and nods, with his chin held high, as if he’s not really accepting this answer.

With some probing, Harry talks about Umbridge, his friends and he blushes when he mentions a girl named Cho. He raises his brows in question but doesn’t push it when Harry doesn’t meet his eyes.

“They should’ve been back by now,” Harry complains, “do you think they’d fight?”

“I wouldn’t rule it out,” Sirius says, not seeing the point to lie about this. Harry pouts, sending glances at the door every few minutes.

“Am I boring you that much?” he asks with fake hurt, earning an eye roll.

“I just want to get this over with. I hope I don’t have to work with Snape ever again.”

“I wouldn’t want to trade places with you.”

“But you would anyway,” Harry says wryly, then looks embarrassed. Sirius smiles, and refrains from saying ‘you wouldn’t like to be me’.

“I bet they don’t get along well,” Harry says. Sirius knows it’s more about his dislike of Snape than any deep observation on their characters but it still amuses him.

Still, his shoulders tense, a tightening sensation in his stomach, at the mention of something else that he doesn’t remember, but Harry doesn’t know the significance in his confession when he says, “I don’t remember them interacting before, but no, they actually almost came to hexing each other last week.”

Harry’s face splits into a grin, “Really?” he exclaims, then the light in his eyes dims and he throws himself back with a huff, his face darkening, “No, that wouldn’t have been nice. I’m sure Snape has nasty curses up his sleeve.”

Sirius snorts at that. “I wouldn’t worry about her,” he says, shaking off the memory of the first and the last time he saw her duel in a real setting.

“Really?” Harry repeats, just as eager, leaning in to put his elbows on his knees, “she doesn’t seem the type.”

“She’s not, I suppose,” he admits, “but the situation called for it.”

Harry waits and scoffs when he doesn’t continue. “Come on, Sirius.”

Sirius sighs, “We were caught inside our apartment by four Death Eaters, a few days after we moved in together. They were waiting for us. Well, for me,” he corrects. “She was supposed to be at work on a night shift, but she changed her shifts with someone and decided to come to dinner at your parents’ house with me.”

“Oh,” Harry says, his face paling, like it’s now dawning on him now that their lives were constantly in danger back then as well.

“Yeah, just pure luck,” he forces himself to go on, “we never stayed in that house, obviously. I crashed at your parents’ house for a week, and she stayed at Crouch’s place.”

“But how did they find you?”

Sirius exhales loudly, “We couldn’t find out. They could’ve learned about her schedule from endless sources, they could’ve just gotten the information from someone in her workplace, or it might’ve been she’s talked to. But the house…”

Harry nods, understanding, “Crouch?”

“It might’ve been Wormtail as well, now that we know about him. But Crouch… We didn’t consider him back then. Well, I did, a little,” he backtracks, “but Lydia didn’t. There were some suspicion around him, but he covered his tracks well. We never had any proof. Didn’t even have the Mark, from what I know of.”

“You were suspecting him?” Harry asks in surprise, “I thought it was a complete shock.”

“Nah,” Sirius replies, “maybe for his father, but not for us. He was mates with Regulus. Very close. And we knew about Regulus from the start.”

“Your brother?”

“Yeah,” he says, looking away, hoping Harry takes the hint.

“What happened then?”

“Well, she never liked that I joined the Order but she never said anything until then,” he says, hiding his grin at the disbelieving expression on Harry’s face, trying to match the person in his tale with the person he met, “told me I had zero concern about my life, and that I was going to get myself killed. That I was only following after your father.”

Harry wrinkles his nose, “Doesn’t seem fair.”

“It wasn’t but it was,” he says vaguely and clarifies when Harry frown in confusion, “I would’ve been dead if she wasn’t there. She was terrified, she never wanted to be caught in the middle, and here we were, fighting for our lives.”

Harry rubs at his eyes under his glasses, then he says in a low voice, “I’m glad she was there.”

Sirius smiles at him, trying to be reassuring but he must look dejected at best, because the tight expression on his face doesn’t ease. So he tries again, “I took one of them out right away, before he could even take out a wand, then we stood our ground two against three well enough to apparate away.”

They stand in silence for a long time before Harry asks, “Why didn’t she join?”

He takes a deep breath, trying to phrase it more polite than Lydia would. “She didn’t like Dumbledore’s methods, hated that he sent us away on missions. Thought he was lounging his on his chair when he should’ve pushed for strict regulations on Death Eaters,” he explains, “her words.”

Harry keeps his silence, a deep frown on his face but Sirius is not surprised that he’s not jumping to Dumbledore’s defence, knowing the old man has been running away from Harry for the entirety of this year.

“Besides,” he says, “a lot of people in the Order thought she was a Death Eater.”

_“What?”_

“She’s a Rosier, her family is well known for Dark Arts. Some of her family was a part of Grindelwald’s army. Her father and brother were both suspected Death Eaters. If one person thought Crouch was a Death Eater,” he says, his bitterness coming back with a force, “there were two who thought that about her.”

His face creases in contempt, “That’s ridiculous, it could be said for you as well. Besides, you two were together, right?”

Sirius raises his brows pointedly, and Harry looks furious when he gets it. “That’s why everyone believed you were a traitor.”

“It didn’t help,” Sirius confirms, wondering if he’s done wrong to tell everything so plainly.

A knock interrupts them, and for the first time, Sirius is glad to have their private time cut short. “Come in,” he calls and Lydia barges in with a tight smile, leaving the door open.

“We think it’s best if Harry comes here with Snape during their usual lessons,” she annoucces, her voice clipped, but her mouth twitches when Harry snaps up to attention. The news makes his heart race with joy as well, to know he’ll be seeing Harry quite frequently, even though he’d be bringing Snape with him. That’s sure to dampen their moods.

_And her. He’d be seeing her._

“Really?” Harry asks, and Sirius twitches, almost warning Harry not to use the same word over and over again, just like his Mother did when he was a kid.

She nods, hesitating a moment before she sets the Daily Prophet in her hands on the table. Sirius and Harry lean in at the same time, craning their necks to read, and Sirius feels blood rush to his ears as he takes in the words, grateful that he’s sitting down, lest he faints.

“How?” he manages, not being able to bring himself to look at Harry’s face. Instead he looks up at Lydia in desperation, and he leans into her touch when she puts a hand on his shoulder.

“They say you aided them here,” Harry mumbles, face buried in the paper, but he doesn’t take his eyes away from Lydia’s face. She is biting into her lips, smudging the lipstick. Her damp hand trails to his neck, fingertips spreading into his hair. “Barty got out,” she says in the end, her voice frail and scared. She is breathing too fast and her fingers tighten in his hair. “They found out one of your guards knocked out, so it’s possible that he got out by himself, rather than with someone’s help. They don’t think she’d be alive if he wasn’t in a hurry to get out.”

“Do you think Crouch helped them escape?” Harry asks, his shoulders strained.

“I don’t know,” she whispers, shaking visibly now. She takes her hand away and sits down on a sofa, hugging herself in the middle, staring at an invisible point behind him.

“I don’t think so,” Sirius mumbles, “I don’t think he’d go back there.”

He takes the paper Harry put down, and skims the lines until he reaches the names. Phantom knives sink into his brain, his vision blackening out around the edges with the feeling his brain is being cut to pieces and he puts it down before he starts shaking and stressing Harry further.

“Molly asked for you,” Lydia exclaims, slapping a hand over her forehead. “See what she wants, then we can start, yeah?”

They watch as Harry silently leaves. His tongue peaks out to wet his lips but he feels like his mouth has been reduced to a desert in a few minutes. He calls out for Kreacher, but the elf doesn’t appear.

“Where’s the bloody elf?” he mumbles, irritated, and he grits his teeth to keep from snapping when Lydia rolls her eyes. “I swear he hides up in cellar to cry about ‘halfbloods and bloodtraitors’.”

“Leave him alone, Sirius,” Lydia says tiredly. “What do you want from him anyway?”

“Tea,” he snaps, “are you going to bring it here like the good house elf you are?”

She gets up, “Might as well, since I’d rather just slit my wrists than listen to you you fight with a bloody house elf.”

The throbbing in his head worsens. “Do not joke about that,” he bristles, his voice hard, shaking his head to clear off the image.

“Do you not like my new sense of humour?” she hisses, as she throws her head back to give a short laugh. “You seemed to enjoying yourself immensely when you wet yourself laughing about my dead brother, so I thought I’d go along with you.”

Her words feel like a kick in the gut and he realises he’s gaping at her. Lydia immediately takes a step back, the back of her knees hitting the sofa but she takes a step closer, her soft, smooth fingers wrap around his wrist when he doesn’t move. He feels her thumb caress his pulse point and he focuses on that.

“I didn’t laugh because of that,” he says, words echoing in his ears.

“I know, I’m sorry,” she whispers, and sounds genuine. She touches his chin to make him look up at her. “I’m really stressed out, I took it on you.”

“It’s alright.” He swallows, his mouth still dry. “Just don’t say it again.”

“I’ll bring some tea and coffee for us,” she mumbles, running out of the room in haste.

He swallows again before he picks up the paper, reading it more carefully. She comes back with Harry, who has his hands full with a tray. They put down the things they brought, and Sirius forces out a smile, “Planning to stay long?”

“Sorry if we’re interrupting your plans,” she says, a dimple appearing in her cheek momentarily.

“It’s alright, as long as we’re done by seven. I’m invited to a very important dinner,” he responds, and he hears Harry laugh beside him.

“Where, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Oh you know,” Sirius drawls, “my cousins just came back to the country. They’re throwing a party after the dinner, in my honour, for helping them.”

“I think I remember that,” she looks up at him with solemn eyes, “must’ve missed it was for you. I wouldn’t have declined otherwise.”

“You’re a busy woman, I understand,” he nods seriously, “but since it’s in my honour, I can take you as my plus one.”

“That’s really sweet of you. Are you sure they wouldn’t mind? Wouldn’t want to intrude on your family dinner,” she bats her eyelashes, and Sirius chuckles, losing his fight to keep a straight face, sharing an amused look with Harry.

“You wouldn’t be intruding at all. You might have met them before, they’re quite the celebrity around here. Ever heard of Bellatrix?”

“Ooh,” she says, tapping her chin, “that’s my cousin as well. How come?”

“I haven’t been around lately,” he lifts a shoulder, “Is it possible that we’ve met before?”

“Indeed,” she says with a grin she hides with her coffee cup, “give me some time, I might just remember where I’ve seen you before.”

“Until seven,” he allows.

She winks at Harry, who beams at her before sending Sirius a pointed look.

He watches them work, with a book in his lap he pretends to read, and despite the news, and his helplessness, he finds he can breath easier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life has been a little busy and I didn't have time to edit. Hope you enjoyed!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another flashback chapter but I think it explains a lot about them. Hope you'll enjoy!

**Sixth Year, after Christmas break.**

Her eyes skim over her paragraphs quickly to detect any irredeemable errors she’s prone to make when she writes fast in English. Flitwick isn’t particularly concerned about a few spelling mistakes, and Slughorn tolerates them because she’s who she is but McGonagall doesn’t allow her to slack.

She hears the door to the classroom open, but she manages to refrain from checking who it is lest it is someone she knows. The classroom is hardly a secret and a lot of people come here to do homework away from the crowds, or to snog.

The only downside is that it is freezing. She hopes it is enough to drive them away.

Fat chance.

The guy walks closer -she assumes it’s an older boy, from the heavy footsteps- in a way that shows he has a clear destination in sight.

When he clears his throat behind her, her mouth sours with self deprecation for knowing who it is by a small sound.

“Lydia,” Sirius mutters.

“Hello Sirius,” she says, trying to feign indifference. The memory of their kiss still burns hot in her memory, but also the shame she felt afterwards. She knows he probably feels shitty about the way he reacted when Regulus came in, but it only adds insult to the injury to know now he pities her on top of everything.

She would prefer to be hexed in the corridors to this.

She turns her eyes back to her work but the words are blurry and she’s already about to blow into million pieces when he tentatively sits next to her.

She’s suffocating.

“Do you want me to leave?”

She should say yes. After all this is the guy who ignored her pointedly for months after they’ve kissed. He doesn’t owe her anything, she knows that. Every bloke fancies a bit of snogging and not necessarily a relationship.

It’s still humiliating. The fact that he suggested she marry Regulus twists the knife further.

“It doesn’t make a difference to me,” she says in the end.

She’s _pathetic_.

She sees Sirius nod but he is still tense, fiddling with his fingers nervously.

 _Even his fingers are beautiful_ , she thinks viciously, _I want to break them._

She tries to refocus but she gets distracted when she sees Sirius is sitting ramrod straight, his body angled towards her like he’s about to start a conversation. She feels the weight of his gaze on her face, and hears his controlled breaths. She steals a glance at him, only to see he doesn’t have anything with him. Typical.

“Do you want a scroll or something?”

Sirius jolts, blinking at her. “I’ve already finished.”

“Really?” she asks before she can stop herself.

Sirius rolls his eyes, cracking her a smile that makes her heart twinge. “I do study, you know. You’d know if you studied in the library every once in a while instead of your common room.”

The answer makes her pause. For some time now, she felt like Sirius always knew where she was. She thought Sirius was simply more alert of her presence like she was of his. _I thought he had a crush on me_ , she thinks hysterically, still mad at herself for being such an idiot. She closes her hands into a fist to stop herself from tearing her hair out in frustration.

It’s her fault for listening to Barty. The urge to choke Barty awakens, which she indulges in every once in a while.

“How would you know that? Maybe I choose to sit away from you and your shenanigans,” she asks, pleased to hear her voice aloof and cool.

Sirius hesitates, steering his eyes away. “Regulus,” he says in the end, his voice soft.

Lydia feels his heart tighten in her chest, both for Regulus and Sirius, and surprisingly for Walburga. Regulus hasn’t said much about it to her when she asked. He didn’t even mention Sirius in his letters until she learned about it on her own.

“I heard what happened,” she mumbles, half expecting Sirius to storm out. Instead, he shrugs and puts his arms on the desk –they’ve grown more muscular over the past few months, she notes- and rests his cheek on them to look up at her. “It was a long time coming.”

She doesn’t say anything. For all that time they’ve spent in Grimmauld Place, she doesn’t have any idea how it is to be living there. The rare times her father stayed with them were always stressful, even though he was always kind with them.

He was gentle with his children, on condition that they don’t do anything to ruin the family name.

“I’m alright,” he says after a while, his voice too light to be telling the truth. Sounds like to me you’re trying to convince yourself, she thinks.

“It’s okay if you’re not, whatever the reason you left.”

Sirius gives out a deep breath, puckering his lips. “I’m truly alright. It’s very peaceful with Potters. It’s liberating to be able to slouch when you’re eating.”

Lydia hums noncommittally. She won’t allow Sirius to make her take sides on this.

“Has Regulus said anything?”

At this, her blood freezes in her veins. She rubs her arms to produce some warmth as she considers lying but dismisses the idea quickly. She wouldn’t be doing a favour. “Not much. Only when I asked.”

Sirius exhales through his nose. Lydia looks at him properly for the first time that day, and once again, she feels drunk and giddy at seeing his face up close. She looks away hastily, scolding herself mentally for giving into the impulse.

She still can’t believe she thought this guy would look at her.

“I noticed you don’t speak to him much anymore.”

“You notice quite a lot about me,” Lydia evades the unspoken question. She gives a small cheer to herself to hear she sounds pissed off instead of flirty.

“Well, you two are not exactly subtle,” Sirius retorts, shifting to rest his cheek on his fist, but his elbow misses the desk and he slips, his head almost hitting the desk.

A snort escapes her, making her blush at the inelegant sound. Thankfully, Sirius doesn’t mention it, probably busy with his own bruised pride.

As he fully turns towards her, he spreads his legs, knocking his knee against her thigh. Lydia, who witnessed first hand how weird Sirius and Regulus can be about casual touches, knows there is not a single chance Sirius is oblivious to their contact.

He leaves it there, burning through his trousers and her tights. Her heart picks up the rate and she burns with the desire to just paste herself onto him, head to toe.

In the privacy of her mind, she allows herself to imagine Sirius putting his hand on her thigh.

She swallows, looking over Sirius to see him watching her with a knowing look, with a small smirk playing on his lips. It grates on her nerves more than her own daydreams.

“Don’t you have other things to worry about other than where I study or who I socialise with?”

“I don’t know,” Sirius says, his voice amused, “What do you suggest I should be doing instead?”

“Torture Snape into insanity. That seems like the only activity you truly enjoy,” she offers with a shrug. “I don’t keep track of what people do, unlike some.”

“But I thought he was your friend now.”

She almost laughs at the idea, because Snape hates her with a burning passion that amuses her. But the look on Sirius’ face says he’ll eat up whatever bullshit she throws at him. “He grows on you,” she mutters.

Sirius makes an indignant sound, sitting up straight in alarm. Then he spots the look on her face, and he rolls his eyes, knocking his shoulder to hers with a low chuckle.

He tilts his head to side. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you didn’t answer my question.”

“Well,” she snaps, losing control when she spots the flirtatious smile on his face, shame spreading through her whole body to realise she’s been melting under his attention, “he can go fuck himself and so can you.”

Sirius stares at her, not flinching, not moving back, like he’d been expecting an outburst sooner or later. It sets her teeth on edge, to be predictable _and_ easily winded up.

“You had a fight, I presume.”

She widens her eyes and says sarcastically, “I always knew you were clever.”

“What was it about?” he ignores the barb.

“I really don’t want to talk about it. Especially not with you,” she says, worked up to a point where she can’t even look him in the eye.

Sirius tosses his head back and he sits back in his chair, crossing his arms in front of his chest. Lydia pointedly doesn’t look at him, picking up her scroll and staring at it with unseeing eyes, before she crosses her legs to put some space between their thighs. Sirius instantly shuts his legs like a toddler who’s about to piss his pants. It’d be funny if she wasn’t miserable.

He breaks the silence, his voice uncharacteristically awkward. “Was it about what he said to me after… you know.”

Lydia turns to look at him, an indignant laugh bubbling in her throat, choking her. She wonders if she’ll look crazy if she reacts the way she wants to: smash his face into the desk until he’s as ugly as they come.

“You fancy yourself so important, don’t you?” she says instead, the venom in her voice surprising even herself. And Sirius, smart boy that he is, recoils in shock.

Sirius’ face flushes, down to his neck. He doesn’t blinks as he holds her gaze defiantly. “He told you then?”

She slams her quill down. “Tell me what? About what he said about Barty and me?”

Sirius flushes further, fixing his eyes somewhere over her shoulder. She expects for him to deny it or admit it but he simply sits there with his jaw working. She rolls her eyes, and nods curtly, shaking with nervous energy. “Why would we fight about that?” she says. “Why do you even _care_?”

Sirius visibly swallows, his sullen gaze turned down on the floor. He kicks the leg of the desk a few times, his mouth opening a few times before he picks up the courage. “It was true, then.”

This assumption, combined with his insistence about the nature of their relationship this summer, baffles her. A remark about his attention span comes and slips by while fury boils inside her, making her unable to hold onto anything else.

“What’s it to you?” she sneers, “or have you forgotten, again, that we’re not engaged, we’re not dating, we’re not anything to each other and I can fuck with whomever I want?”

Sirius drops his arms and suddenly he looks bigger, almost crowding into her space with the way he stares her down. He juts his chin out, his eye twitching as his eyes roam her face. He forces a smile that looks threatening more than anything. “Does he even have the stamina?”

Lydia leans in impulsively, closing the small gap between them. She taps at his stubbled jaw with a finger and his lips parts a fraction as he inhales sharply. She gives into the urge to touch them for a moment before she yanks her hands back to her lap. “Mind blowing. You can ask him for tips. He’s a very helpful bloke, my Barty.”

She sits back, satisfied that she ended the conversation. He looks completely taken aback, like he’d been hit by a Confundus and his tongue darts out to wet where her fingers had just been. But then, out of all responses she expected, she gets something she didn’t know possible.

He laughs.

“Bloody hell, who do you think you’re fooling?” he says cheerfully but the tightness around his eyes remain.

She suddenly feels sick to her stomach, because he’s right, she’s not fooling anyone, she can’t stand herself for still caring too much about a pretty boy not liking her back in the middle of everything that’s happening and hates him for talking to her like he’s bloody jealous, of _Barty_ , who has been the one to encourage her to “do something” in the first place and for playing with her after he’d made himself clear where they stood with each other.

Yes, it’s one of those days where she’ll bite Barty’s head off for misleading her.

“Lydia,” she hears amidst the buzzing in her head, and she turns her face away, This was all a fucking mistake, she thinks. She should’ve told him to leave, she should have kept herself in check, she shouldn’t have kissed him, she shouldn’t have wanted it in the first place.

A hand, a beautiful, gorgeous, magnificent hand cups her chin –she hates hates hates- gently forcing her to face him. He drops it when she opens her eyes. With lips are pressed together, and his brows furrowed, he looks as uncomfortable as she is. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice hoarse. Her heart thumps to hear those words but… Too late.

It’s alright, she should say and be done with him.

“For what?”

He looks immediately miserable but she doesn’t feel like she’s winning. “I was a prick,” he says, low but clear, “I was embarrassed… that Regulus walked on on us.”

And she thought it couldn’t get worse.

It must show on her face because Sirius grimaces and he slaps his forehead, rubbing his palm over his face. “Not because it was you, Merlin, what the fuck is wrong with me,” he sighs, “you know how Regulus is, he’d insinuate at it for the whole summer and torment me until Mother took over.”

She laughs despite herself and Sirius immediately perks up, peeking at her uncertainly, and gives her a half smile. He sobers up with each second, looking away in distance, “He was angry with me, you know.”

She frowns, “For what? Kissing me?”

“No,” Sirius huffs, reaching out to her quill. He starts to sketch on the desk. “For being a prick.”

“So ‘they’re going to fuck and I’ll read them to you’ didn’t come out of nowhere?” she says, her shoulders shaking with barely constrained laughter.

Sirius scowls, pressing the quill so hard that it snaps. He glares at it for a moment before he mumbles an apology.

Lydia waves off his apology. This behaviour was the main reason they thought he liked her back last year. Only, back then, they didn’t know how much Sirius detested Barty.

She wills the thought away, and takes the broken quill back from his hands to vanish it. Even if it’s true, it means next to nothing if he’ll flee every time someone sees them together.

“Forget about it,” she assures him, with an awkward pat to his shoulder. Sirius gives her an odd look and grimaces, unconvinced. She braces herself and lies through her teeth, “It really doesn’t matter, alright? You were gorgeous and I wanted to kiss you. I don’t think there’s one girl that wouldn’t snog you. Frankly, you were the one to blow it out of proportion. Almost like you’ve never been kissed.”

Sirius bows his head down halfway through her monologue and nods at the end. He stares down with glazed eyes before bracing his elbows on the desk again. “I’m sorry what I said at the station, as well.”

She sighs, remembering how furious her grandma was at Sirius. It definitely put a dent in their mood. “It’s alright. We used a voodoo doll for you the whole break. Got rid of our frustrations.”

He laughs lightly but it’s obvious it’s to break the ice than any real amusement. When he looks back at her, his expression is troubled. “You stayed in England?”

“No, we went to Finland, of all places. Grandma said it was for skiing but she didn’t leave the hotel once,” she says fondly. It was far more pleasant than she’d have expected. Without Evan, they didn’t have to skirt around any subjects and she didn’t have to worry about his influence on Felix.

Sirius frowns, “I saw your brother in London.”

Her heart sinks at the mention of him. “Yeah, he stayed.”

“Is everything alright?”

She purses her mouth, reluctant to share her doubts because she didn’t trust him to stay calm, especially for when he finds out her suspicions about Regulus.

“He was with the Lestranges,” Sirius adds, his tone casual but his gaze sharp.

She bites inside her cheek to stifle a groan, and reluctantly admits, “They’ve been growing close ever since Father passed away.”

The insinuation is clear and she finds she can’t meet his eyes. His silence makes her uneasy and she shifts, grabbing her scroll to pretend looking at it. She’s become rather good at it this year. It’s the best cover to avoid talking to people.

He snatches it from her hands, ignoring her yelp, and pushing her away with one hand on the shoulder as she tries to reach for it.

He tuts, “Sit down.”

“I thought you were done!” She shakes him by the shoulder when he twists his torso to keep it out of her reach. “I know you are trying to rip off from my work,” she accuses when he doesn’t answer.

He scoffs, unconcerned. “Why would I do that? What did you get from your last assignment, an Acceptable?” he mocks, “I got an Outstanding.”

Lydia swats at his shoulder lightly, her heart once again acting without her brain’s permission to hear him paying attention to her. “That’s because McGonagall is a dictator when it comes to spelling.”

Sirius snorts, “I’d be too if I had to read these every week,” he says, dangling her homework in front of her face, dodging away from her poke before he takes out his wand to touch on the paper every once in a while as he reads. Lydia leans in to oversee his work, making sure he is not playing a joke on her. The words realign themselves and she almost takes a deep breath of relief. She doesn’t have to spell check again.

“Don’t you trust me?” Sirius asks when he spots her warily watching the scroll.

“I’d be stupid if I did, but you’d be even more stupid if you dared to sabotage me,” she says sweetly, earning a chuckle.

“This is what I get for being a nice person,” he claims, winking at her when she pulls a face.

“Is that why you’re a prick most of the time?” she asks with a pleasant smile.

“Exactly!” he exclaims. “You get me, Lydia.” He snorts when he reads the last lines, “Murder? No wonder she doesn’t give you higher scores.”

She looks at her homework, about human to object transfiguration. “It’s very practical,” she argues, not willing to expose that she had been thinking about murdering people a lot lately.

Naturally, it’s what she says next. “I’m thinking about murder a lot lately.”

Sirius snickers and gives her a conspiring look. “Whose murder, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“That would put me on the top of the suspect list if I told you.”

“I wouldn’t rat you out,” he says with such heartfelt conviction that Lydia falters.

“That’s a big promise,” she says quietly. Sirius shifts his eyes side to side before he grins. “I have the feeling we want to murder the same people.”

_I wouldn’t be so sure about it._

She smiles at his childish grin before she takes the scroll from his hands. “I stand by my point,” she says, knowing she’ll probably change it with something else at night. She puts it back to her bag. Sirius shakes his head, a grin still playing across his lips. He glances at his watch, “Shall we go to lunch? I’m starving.”

She groans, stretching out her legs to settle down more comfortably. “You go.”

Sirius grabs her by the wrist, tugging at it like a spoiled child. “Indulge me. We’ll sit wherever you want to.”

She tries to escape from his grip but he doesn’t let go, and in the end Lydia thinks it might do her good to go along with it. She’s hungry after all. “Fine, fine. Will you let go or do you have to hold my hand all the way to the Hall?”

Sirius releases her and puts his hands in the air, standing up with unnecessary elegance. She scowls inside at herself for noticing, slinging her bag to her back before she follows him out of the classroom.

She allows herself to ogle his backside.

***

Lydia is not naïve, she knows walking to the Great Hall with Sirius and sitting next to him will fill the rumour mill for at least few days, not even recounting the fact that almost everyone knows about their “engagement”. Sirius’ banishment from his family is not well known –yet- but it’s not a secret either, especially among pureblood families. There is not a single scenario where their ‘reunion’ won’t reach Evan by tonight with his creepy intelligence network. Evan hasn’t said anything to her about Sirius, not for lack of trying on his part but because she had been avoiding him ever since the funeral, especially after he started chumming up with Bella.

She tried really hard to come up with another reason for their sudden intimacy. She tried to convince herself that they were having a very inappropriate, incestuous fling but she can’t ignore what’s in her face.

Slytherin table is mostly empty, and a quick glance tells her neither Evan nor Regulus is anywhere to be found. She directs him with a hand on his elbow to the Gryffindor table, after noting that his friends are absent as well.

In her desperate attempts to detect the people she’d like to avoid most, she misses the whispers at first. Sirius looks unbothered as they take their seats but she eyes the people around her cautiously, glad to have a wall behind her back.

Who knew a second year girl could manage such spiteful look?

“I think your fanbase hates me already,” she states, her eyes coming across angry faces left and right. These looks had diminished over the years, when people realised they weren’t actually together, but whenever they interact, it comes back.

She thinks people expect Sirius to hate her on principle. She’s still surprised he doesn’t.

Sirius looks up in surprise, his fork halfway into his mouth. His brows furrow in confusion and she rolls her eyes, waving her hand in a small gesture. “I’m ruining their dreams of marriage.”

Finally caught up on her meaning, he chews his food, way too smug. “Yet you turn it down.”

“I must be mad.”

“Total nutcase,” he confirms with sincerity.

Interacting with Sirius had always come easy to her. She knows people mostly find Sirius unapproachable. She also knows there is truth to it. Even though she has never been the victim of his cruelty, it’s still unnerving to watch him treat people so callously sometimes. To wonder if he’ll direct it to her.

She’s seen it so many times after they’ve started Hogwarts, especially when he’s with his small pack. She always avoided talking to him when he was with them, no matter how rare it was that he was alone.

His friends arrive soon, three of them with three shit eating grins and sit across them. Sirius tenses beside her, and she catches him sending warning looks, smoothing his face once he realises she’s watching her.

“Rosier,” Potter greets her gleefully. So far, Potter has only been distantly polite to her when Sirius talked to her with them around, or straight out ignored her when Sirius wasn’t there. She looks at Sirius for clues for this unusual behaviour, who’s giving his best mate a death glare.

She nods warily. “Hello,” she says, taking a bite to avoid any further conversation.

“I’m delighted to finally meet Padfoot’s fiancé,” Pettigrew says, sharing a look with Potter. Sirius loudly sighs, resigned, shoving his fork in his mouth so forcefully that Lydia is worried he’s going to puncture something.

Lydia doesn’t remind Peter they’ve been introduced first day, by Sirius, no less and have talked dozens of times, not including the third year when they were forced to pair in Charms, much to her displeasure.

It’s not that she dislikes Peter. On the contrary, she’d choose him over Potter and Lupin any day but he’s a right slacker when he’s found someone to do the job for him.

“Likewise, Peter,” she says. “Now, we don’t know if the wedding is on my seventeenth birthday or when we graduate out of school but you’re all invited.”

Sirius chokes out a laugh, then turns to his mates with a straight face, “Probably when we graduate, though. It’d be hard for all of us to get allowance to attend a wedding.”

Potter holds his hands to his chest like he’s about to swoon, his face red as he reaches over the table to pat Sirius on the shoulder.

She nods grimly, “Dumbledore’s not very sympathetic.”

“I gather the engagement is back on,” Lupin says wryly.

“It was never off, mind you,” James cuts in, wagging his finger at Lupin.

“Sirius did lots of grovelling,” Lydia adds, her eyes catching Barty across the tables, giving her a meaningful look, his head jerking to the Slytherin table. Her eyes fly across the table, tuning out the banter. She locks gazes with Regulus, who looks wistful of all things before he scowls at her. She scowls right back at him, and she deliberately plunges her knife into her meat, never taking her eyes off him. In retaliation, he smiles, apathetic, as he starts to vigorously cut whatever he has on his plate. He tilts his head to side, his face crunched like he smells rotten eggs, before he picks it up with his fork and drops it into his goblet from half a feet in the air. The liquid splashes out, making people around him jump and give him scathing looks.

She flips him two fingers, chewing the meat she stabbed, still maintaining their eye contact.

Regulus’ nose turns up and he swats at his goblet with the back of his hand with a flick of his wrist like it’s contagious, spilling it on the chicken and someone snipes at him, which he ignores to stand up and storm out of the Hall.

“Morgana’s tits, Lydia,” Sirius mumbles when she deflates, pushing her plate away. “What did you do to piss him off?”

_He’s jealous because I’m talking to you._

_S_ he gapes at him when she understands what he just said, “Are you choosing his side?”

“That would require knowing why you fought in the first place,” he says with arched brows. She sees his friends shuffle in the corner of her sight and she hates herself for giving into the urge to taunt Regulus and Sirius for pushing her in front of others.

“He is an utter wanker, that’s why,” she mutters, daring him to ask more questions with her eyes. Sirius lets it go but she knows from his determined expression he’s going to ask about it until he gets an answer. She needs to decide if she’s going to make it hard for him.

She groans inside when she sees Barty beckoning her. She gives them each a smile, “It was great to see you all again but Barty is dying for a gossip. It gives him nightmares if he has time to let his imagination go wild.”

Sirius scrunches his nose, and glares at the general direction of Barty. “Can’t he wait? You barely ate anything.”

She grabs her bag and gives him an apologetic smile, patting him on the forearm. “Can’t, sorry. He says it’s traumatic when he doesn’t know what’s happening in my life. Apparently it hinders his growth spurt.”

“I can’t tell if she’s joking,” Pettrigrew says around a mouthful. Sirius gives him an impatient glare. “Of course she’s joking. Who’s like that?”

She raises her eyebrows, bending down to look at Sirius’ eyes, before she gazes at Potter. She fixes the collar of his shirt. “Yeah, who’s like that?”

He tries to scowl but a smile wins out. She hears him sigh as she walks away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was absolutely delightful to write and I hope it shows!


	11. Chapter 11

Harry leaves around six, so he can be seen during the dinner. They can get him out easily, but they don’t want students to come up with new rumours. He sulks about it, mostly because he’ll have to use the Floo in Snape’s room, but the fact he’s coming back this Tuesday makes it a lot easier for them to part. Lydia doesn’t bother getting up to see him off, giving them some time to talk alone.

Harry looks more exhausted than she does but more cheerful than in the morning. “I like her,” he says when they’re hugging.

Sirius takes a step back, holding his face in his palms to look into his eyes, “So you’ve said,” he says with a wry grin.

“Reminds me of McGonagall.”

Sirius guffaws, looking at Harry incredulously. “Now that’s a comparison I never thought I’d hear. Don’t think about it too much though. As least until you’ve gotten the hang of Occlumency.”

Harry averts his eyes, a flush creeping into his face. Sirius presses his lips together to hide a smile and pats him on the shoulder. “Off you go.”

Harry leaves like his arse is on fire.

He yells for Kreacher, orders him to prepare dinner for the Order. It’s usually their routine to have dinner here on Saturdays, which he usually anticipates but he finds himself wishing everyone to leave.

She is slumping in her chair when he returns to the room, her eyes closed with exhaustion. His eyes flies over her features, taking advantage of a rare moment to enjoy watching her without anyone noticing.

“I take it he’s not a natural,” Sirius says, when she opens her eyes.

“No,” she says with a soft laugh, “but we’ll get there.”

“Not hopeless like Snape claims?” he asks, his annoyance at the bastard sneaking into his voice.

“He’s trying,” she allows, which doesn’t actually help with the sinking feeling, “we just need to find what’s best for him.”

“I didn’t know you were using Occlumency.”

She blinks at him, shrugs. “Grandma thought us when we were kids, but I got better after the war.”

He tries not to analyse that too closely, because he doesn’t know how to deal with why she had to do this. With his role in her miseries.

“I’m sorry about your brother,” he says instead but she gives him a half a smile and nods.

_Lydia peeks inside, startling when her eyes falls upon Sirius. Lydia gives him a hesitant smile when he leaps to his feet. James Potter gives him an incredulous look but doesn’t point it out. He adjusts his trousers before he sits back down._

_“Hello,” she greets him, turning her gaze to the other students in the compartment but it’s apparent that they don’t hold her attention._

_“This is Lydia,” he introduces her to his new acquaintances. He gestures towards them, realising he didn’t bother to learn anyone’s name other than James Potter’s._

_The chubby one holds out a hand sticky with the candy he’d been eating, and Sirius bends his head to hide his smirk. She’ll go wash her hands as soon as she leaves._

_“Peter Pettrigrew,” he says. “Pleasure to meet you.”_

_“Likewise,” she says, taking the Muggle chocolate bar the boy offers him. She pockets it inside her robes. “Thank you. I’ve never had this one before.”_

_“It’s one of my favourites,” he says, too enthusiastic to be talking about chocolate but Lydia grins, looking charmed._

_“I’ll let you know what I think.”_

_Her eyes shift to the boy next to him and the red haired boy timidly smiles, “I’m Theo.” They talk about some woman they’ve both seen in the station. Sirius is sure half of the things that leaves her mouth are exaggerations. It makes the boy snigger anyway._

_“Do you want to sit with us?” Sirius asks when her eyes avert to the next compartment, ignoring the way Potter’s head snaps at him._

_Lydia lets out a tense laugh, her gaze falling upon Potter for a moment._

_“Thank you, but I was actually looking for Evan.”_

_He nods, feeling relieved and disappointed at the same time. She motions the next door with a thumb. “I should get going. He’s probably looking for me.”_

_“No, wait,” the chubby one stops her –Peter, reminds himself- “We were making a survey on houses.”_

_She hesitates, then gestures him to go on. Peter leans down to write her name on his notepad. “Which house do you suppose you’ll be in?”_

_She giggles, squinting one eye, thinking. “My brother says I’ll probably be in Slytherin.”_

_Peter writes an ‘S’ in one column._

_“Maybe he’s messing with you,” Potter speaks up for the first time since she came in._

_She frowns like that thought never occurred to her. “Well, he wants us to be in the same House so we can see each other more. I don’t think so.”_

_“Is he in Slytherin?”_

_She nods but he can see her patience is wearing thin. The undertone is clear but the other two seem to be oblivious to it, probably due to being half-bloods._

_“I remember you,” Potter exclaims, pointing at her with a finger, but he is cut short when Evan Rosier barges in their compartment._

_He grabs Lydia by the shoulders and pulls her into a painful looking hug. Lydia disappears between his arms, squirming to get out._

_“Where have you been?” he demands when he finally lets go of her. “I was worried sick.”_

_She rolls her eyes. “You disappeared with your stupid friends. You know I don’t like them. Travers smells like a barn.”_

_“Do not say that. He gets upset,” he reprimands her. She shrugs, petulant. He opens his mouth to say more but shuts it when he catches the four boys listening to them. “Black,” he spats out his name like it’s poisoned. Sirius thinks his overprotective brother act is stupid, considering it was his own father that betrothed them._

_“Rosier,” he says in the same manner. Lydia glowers at him icily, her chin tilting up. He doesn’t think it’s fair that she doesn’t get angry with her brother when he provokes him for no reason. He sends her a similar look._

_“How are you even siblings?” Peter says, his gaze hopping between them._

_Evan rolls his eyes and snipes, “I ate her food when we were younger.”_

_Sirius doesn’t know if he’s joking but he doesn’t think it’s funny enough for Lydia to snort loudly._

_“We will be going,” Evan pulls himself to his full height, his mouth curling in distaste as he examines the others, scoffing when he spots the Muggle chocolate and notepad._

_“Good riddance,” Potter waves a dismissive arm when Evan slams the door behind them._

“Do you miss him?” he asks carefully after a beat, his eyes focused on her face. She screws her face up like she’s in physical pain for a second. “It’s a bit complicated, I suppose.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think-” she begins, wringing her hands together. “I’ve been thinking about him more and more.”

Her forehead creases in thought, “I was very careful not to think about him when he passed away.”

Sirius frowns in confusion before everything falls into place. “Occlumency?”

She flashes him a brilliant smile before it dims, and she nods. “I needed to keep him out of my thoughts. So I kept him out. But now…”

Sirius doesn’t know what to say to that but Lydia goes on, like she doesn’t want to lose her chance of speaking about him. It makes him wistful for some reason, thinking about her family tying itself in knots whenever they tried to talk about Evan.

“I kept telling myself that there was no way out of it for him,” she says, words slurring together. “I mean, he was a Death Eater, loud and proud, a bit gone in the head and I guess I kept telling myself it was better that he didn’t end up in Azkaban. I knew he’d rather die than come willingly,” she shakes her head in a fond manner and Sirius can’t fathom what makes her smile lovingly at this, but he keeps quiet. “He got his wish, didn’t he? I thought he got the better side of the stick, in a way. I still think that.”

That, Sirius can understand and he nods when Lydia looks at him for a reaction.

“We expected it to happen one way or another. No way he’d find his way out of that mess like the Malfoys,” she says dryly, an understatement. “I was so caught up with you, then Barty anyway,” she confesses quietly. “Because I did not see it coming. You, in Azkaban, an absurdity in itself and Barty, stupid boy, to this day I still can’t grasp _why_.”

A heartbeat, and he looks at her more carefully, and realises she spent so much time thinking about this, searching for a reason, for an excuse but coming up empty handed each time. Trying to cope with it when she burned with the injustice of it.

“But I made my peace with Barty’s death, years ago.” She huffs out a breath, sounding bitter and angry. “Went to his funeral, said my eulogy and all that. His bloody father offered me his condolences. I cried for months,” she whispers, eyes misty and distant, “I was done.”

Sirius doesn’t say anything. He can see she believes in what she’s saying but he can’t be sure that she’s not deceiving herself. It doesn’t align with the person he knew before Azkaban. He doesn’t understand how it’s possible. He doesn’t think it’s possible for him to get over James in the way she claims or at least make peace with being the one left with memories. He doesn’t think he wants to.

“I don’t know what to do with it, now that he’s back,” she murmurs, almost to herself.

Their eyes meet and she blinks like she’s forgotten he was there. She shakes her head, “I know it’s a sharp line for you, but I’m just not able to cross him out of my heart.”

He ignores the way her wording causes a flicker of irritation in his chest. He remembers her saying the same thing about Regulus and her absolute refusal to talk about him with him, especially after he got himself killed.

“Come on,” he says determinedly in the end, holding out his hand, “get some sleep while Kreacher prepares dinner. You look a fright.”

She lets him haul to her feet but takes her hand away like it’s burned. “Reg’s room?”

Sirius hesitates, then shakes his head no. He doesn’t want her to see the paper clippings Regulus put up on his walls. “Not now, alright? You can stay in my room.”

“Can I see it later?”

“Sure.”

Not if he has a chance to avoid it.

He props her up as he guides her through the stairs. He almost bows down like he’s representing his life’s work when he opens the door to his immaculate room, but she doesn’t seem to take anything in. She removes her shoes carelessly and slides into the bed, almost tripping over her feet. He doesn’t trust himself to stay sane while she sleeps in his bed, so he starts to the door to leave after she settles in.

“I remembered where I knew you from,” she murmurs as he’s stepping out. He freezes, his heart missing a beat and he releases the doorknob.

“Oh,” he breathes out in mock shock, “will you tell me or do I have to figure it out myself?”

Her mouth curls into one side, her eyes still shut. “We kissed once, right on this bed.”

A pleasant weight settles on his chest, an urge, a compulsion growing inside him to get inside the covers beside her. He swallows around his dry throat, “I think I’d remember that. Are you sure?”

“Well, I recognise the room.”

“I don’t know, I only remember one girl I had on this bed,” he murmurs, not trusting himself to produce proper sounds.

She turns onto her back, throwing one arm over her eyes. “Apparently I’m not as memorable as that one girl.”

He scoffs, shutting the door behind him on a whim. He squats down next to the bed and pokes her with a finger. “You’re ridiculous.”

She takes her arm off her face, and grins, her exhaustion forgotten. She sobers up and fixes him with a stern look that makes him chuckle, “What happened after you kissed that girl then?”

“I never said I kissed her. In fact, she kissed me,” he croons, “threw herself at me, more like.”

She rolls her eyes, and he puts his arms on the bed, resting his chin on his biceps. “Well… In reality, I freaked out and ignored her for three months.”

She makes an understanding sound, then clicks her tongue, “That’s counterproductive.”

“I was a teenager with a crush, I thought she didn’t like me back.”

Her eyes widen with mirth, “Was she the first girl that fancied you?”

He rolls his eyes, tilting his head to rest his cheek on his forearm. “That’s right. Never had any female attention until then.”

“I find that hard to believe, I’m sure you were a gorgeous bloke,” she huffs, “I bet all the girls lost their shit when you chased after her.”

“I didn’t have to chase her.”

She sputters. “Is that so? She was an easy catch, then.”

“Don’t be crude,” he scoffs. “We were already betrothed.”

She makes an understanding sound, her tongue tapping at her front teeth in consideration. After a few seconds, she turns sideways, one hand reaching out to hold his arm. “Will you kiss her again?”

Sirius stares at her dumbfounded as he tries to sort through his thoughts. She had always been the bolder flirter of them -something that took everyone who witnessed their relationship by surprise- and it still takes his breath away.

“Not unless she kisses me first,” he whispers, desire coursing through his veins at the thought. He feels daring, just for putting it out in the open.

She seizes him with solemn eyes and nods, “That’s fair.” She yawns, covering her mouth with the hand she had on him.

He sighs, “Sleep, Lydia,” he says, squeezing her hand when it falls onto his. On an impulse, he drags her hand up and plants a kiss on the top.

Her eyelashes flutter, “You kissed me,” she mumbles.

“This doesn’t count.”

“It does.”

He tangles their fingers, “If you say so,” he accepts. He doesn’t know if she hears.

***

Sirius lets her sleep for two hours before he wakes her up. He can go for days without eating, he had done so in Azkaban, but her stomach keeps grumbling in her sleep.

He wishes he could say he hadn’t stayed by her side to watch her like a creep. It is not something he used to do. He always thought he’d have long years to look at her. Her face was already more familiar to him than his own. It was the face he saw when he woke up, when he had his breakfast, when he came home.

He had no idea that he’d spend years not seeing it.

He calls for her name a few times, but she doesn’t move. He feels hesitant to touch her when she’s sleeping, he doesn’t know if he’s allowed. Pushing aside the pang of longing, he taps her shoulder and laughing when she sneezes.

She blinks a few times, looking confused. To see him this close, probably.

“Dinner’s ready,” he explains, feigning nonchalance. “They’re waiting for us.”

She groans, pressing her face onto the pillow and swats at his hand. “Who, exactly?”

“Tonks and Remus, I think.”

She grimaces and casts him a hopeful glance, “Can’t you tell them I’m sleeping?”

Sirius hesitates as she she kicks the covers off her –an image straight out of his dreams- and fumbles for the right way to phrase what he’s thinking. “You always do that.” He winces as soon as it’s out of his mouth. It sound too much like an accusation.

“What?” she balks, leaning on her elbows.

“You don’t-“ he grimaces, “-eat. Whenever you’re stressed.”

She scoffs, dropping back to the bed. “Actually, I just don’t want to juggle a social interaction right now. My appetite is fine.”

Sirius bites back a sigh and goes for a bargain. “I’ll save some for you.”

She waves her hand carelessly, confirming that she’s just blowing him off. “Of course. Thank you.”

“I’ll come collect you when everyone’s gone to their rooms.”

Lydia’s brows almost rise to her hairline, “Am I understanding this correctly?”

Sirius laughs, flicking her earrings. “Such a gossip.”

“Humankind wouldn’t have evolved if we didn’t gossip,” she says, turning to lay on her side. She tucks an arm under her head, reaching out with her other hand to tug on his sleeve when he hides his smile into his wrist.

“I’m going to listen to that argument when I come back.”

“I’ll write you a bloody article,” she promises, and her smile turns mischievous. He allows his gaze to linger on her lips before returning his attention back to the point.

“Ever heard of Rita Skeeter? I feel like you would -“ he starts but she leaps at him, her hand covering his mouth.

“I dare you to finish that sentence,” she says, squinting her eyes.

He removes her hand from his mouth, and obliges. “As I was saying before you interrupted, I feel like you would get along with her.”

Her mouth falls open as he finishes his sentence and she tosses a pillow at his head. It bounces to the floor and he catches her other hand before she can find another.

“Behave,” he orders with his firmest tone but loses his battle to keep a straight face when she breaths out an indignant sound.

He pushes her onto her back when she struggles, pinning her wrists to the mattress. He almost laughs when she gasps, gaping at him but it gets stuck in his throat when he assesses their situation. He gulps, trying to stave off the waves of desire coursing through him by thinking about the people waiting him downstairs and how inappropriate it would be if he were to go down with an erection but he feels himself failing when he realises Lydia is almost panting under him, her face flushed and mouth open invitingly.

He hadn’t allowed himself to think about his chances that she might still harbour feelings for him. He knows she still cares for him -never stopped in the first place, broken engagements aside. But he can’t see her wanting to get into a relationship again, even if she jokes around, muddling his brain. He doesn’t think she realises how quickly he’d jump into it if he thought she wouldn’t bolt in a few weeks, or a few months at best after a few good fucks. She wanted out of it when there were far less issues between them and now with war looming over them once again, Lydia driven into a corner to work with them, he can’t see it working.

He remembers Lydia rambling to James and Lily, drunk and cheerful, about how hot Sirius is, giving way too much information, only to be spurred on by the uncomfortable expressions on their face.

It had been flattering once. Now it leaves a bitter taste.

Lydia’s soft voice snaps him out of his miserable reveries. At least he is not in danger to face others with a hard on anymore.

“Sirius.”

“Hm?”

“Is this the appropriate way to treat a lady?” she asks with an arched brow, trying to come off as teasing but he can see the worry underneath. He wonders how long he stood silent and brooding, towering over her.

“You’re not a lady.”

“Excuse me?”

“I only speak the truth,” he lifts a shoulder in a ribbing manner, releasing her wrists.

“Get out,” she laughs. He pushes himself to his feet, throwing his hands in the air in surrender. He really doesn’t want to go downstairs and be subjected to Tonks’ babble or Remus’ attempts at pulling him into the conversation but he does as he’s told anyway.

His mother watches him with shrewd eyes, her mouth curled into a satisfied smile and allows him to pass without a fuss. “Bring her some food when you’re done,” she says, yawning. Sirius’ eyes narrow but he decides to ignore her.

“She’s sleeping.”

That gets exactly the reaction he’d guessed. Tonks gives him a look that says she’s seeing right through him and Remus looks like he’s about to suggest they wait for her.

Remus opens his mouth, a guilty expression on his face whenever he thinks about someone being hungry when he’s eating when they’re all startled by the loud steps on the stair. He winces for being caught at a lie but doesn’t have time to wonder why Lydia exposed him before she barges through the door.

All rational thoughts leaves at the sight of her bloodless, horrified face.

Tonks reacts first, grabbing her by the shoulders with a tight grip until her gaze focus on her face.

“Barty knows my home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> today is an AWESOME day! i managed to land in the same group with my best friend for my last year in university and that gave me quite the motivation to write.  
> Have a good day!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tonks' POV. It's been a while.

“What do you mean?” Dora demands, blood rushing to her ears as she stares at Lydia’s terrified eyes. “Isn’t it under Fidelius?”

She looks around blindly, like she’s entered another state. She used to get like this when Dora was still a teenager and it always scared her to a point she called for her mum. But her mum is not here to snap Lydia out of it.

She swings dangerously on her feet, tripping over the carpet but manages to hold onto the counter. Remus starts to her with his hands raised but Dora shakes her head at him. “Lydia?” she says with a gentle voice.

“Yes, yes!” she screams, snapping out of it, tugging at her hair. “But we’ve cast it before he was caught and he already knew by then.”

“What the fuck?” Dora shakes her by her shoulders more violently this time. “How can you forget something like that?”

Lydia’s mouth fall opens and her eyebrows almost disappears into her hairline. “He was supposed to be in Azkaban!” she hisses, “He was supposed to be fucking dead! Then he was supposed to be locked in your safehouse!”

Lydia swats at her hands to remove them, wheezing as she tries to take deep breaths. Guilt overwhelms her as she realises how much she failed to keep her promises. It was her who convinced Lydia to help the Order when she never wanted to be a part of it and who let others push her into talking to Crouch when she was clearly reluctant to do it for very good reasons.

Sirius pushes her aside gently as Dora almost chokes with self hatred and puts his hands on Lydia’s shoulders. Her breath gets stuck in her throat when she spots Sirius’ grim face but she allows him to touch her, almost leaning into it. Her eyes, wide and shiny with unshed tears, turn up at him pleadingly. Her lips move soundlessly, but Sirius seems to understand what she’s saying.

“Okay, sit down for a moment,” he mumbles soothingly, pulling her towards a chair, holding her up until she sits down. He leans down towards her with an almost distant expression on his face. He squints at her, and asks in an even tone, “He could’ve gone there last year any time, and he hasn’t, right?”

Lydia shakes her head in desperation, clutching at his forearms. “He was the one to help me put the wards in the first place. My house wouldn’t recognise him as a threat,” she says and Sirius’ hands tighten on her shoulders, closing his eyes like he’s having a mental breakdown inside and he doesn’t want to spill any of that into the world.

Dora still doesn’t understand how Crouch managed to gain that kind of trust from her, even after the hunt for Death Eaters really kicked off. But maybe she’s really become one of Moody’s Aurors.

“Why?” he says through gritted teeth, keeping still with apparent effort. Dora shoots a warning look at Remus, but he’s already tense, ready to intervene any second.

Lydia starts to sway side to side, dropping her hands on her lap. “I told you, I gave testimonies and I was scared,” she chokes out, tears filling her eyes. “He helped me.”

Sirius sighs, straightening to his full height. He rubs his face tiredly but he doesn’t look as shocked as Dora feels. He pulls a chair for himself and sits across Lydia, and hauls himself closer until her knees are digging into his inner thighs. He takes her hands in his own, rubbing circles in her palms with his thumbs.

Dora is not surprised to see her warnings not to get into something with Sirius right now had fallen to deaf ears. She is still surprised by the speed they’re getting into it, like reckless teenagers bent on defying their parents.

“Did he know which names you gave?” Remus asks.

Lydia nods absentmindedly but she doesn’t take her eyes off Sirius, and Dora feels a pang of sympathy for Sirius when she keeps staring at him like she trusts him to solve this. She can’t imagine how she’d feel not being able to do anything if someone looked at her like that.

“Do you think he’d tell them now?” Remus asks, his mouth tightening as he regards Sirius and Lydia with exasperation.

Lydia snaps her gaze from Sirius and looks at Remus with a thoughtful frown. “It doesn’t matter. They definitely know it was me.”

“How so?”

“They were caught in one of our houses,” she says with a wry smile.

“Who, exactly?” Remus presses with raised eyebrows. “We need to know to help you.”

Lydia huffs indignantly. “I don’t want your-“

She stops in her tracks, wrenching her hands from Sirius and jumping to her feet. “Felix,” she mumbles, “He was thinking of visiting me this week.”

Dora’s eyes widen and she runs after Lydia, who marches up to the Floo without an explanation. “Hey, calm down. You can’t just barge in back to your house.”

“I’m not going to calm down,” she snaps, “I need to talk to Felix.”

Dora breaths into her palms as Lydia repeatedly calls for Felix’ house, getting more frustrated with each second. Dora places herself before the Floo powder to stop her if she tries to go into her house.

“Dany!” Lydia breaths out in relief, her eyes closing for a moment when finally someone answers from Felix’ house.

“Lydia? Oh it’s you! Where are you calling us-“

“Listen,” she cuts her off, “Are Annie and Felix with you?”

“What? Uhm, Annie is here but Felix left a few hours ago to meet with his friends,” Danielle says, her confusion obvious even from the fire.

Lydia exhales loudly, her shoulder dropping as tension suddenly leaves her body. “Thank Merlin,” she mutters to herself. “Can you reach him right now?”

“I don’t think so, I don’t know where he went. It’s their monthly meet up-“

“Shit, is he in London?” she exclaims, her previous alarm coming back just as quickly as it left.

“Well, yeah. Look if you really need to talk to him he’ll probably stop by you,” she says with just a hint of annoyance.

“That’s exactly what I’m terrified of.”

“Oh my god, are you safe?”

“Yes, I’m perfectly fine. Dany, you are not to go to my house under any circumstances. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, but Felix…”

“I’ll head there and send Felix to you but stay in the house and don’t let Annie out of your sight. Block the Floo from my house. I’ll call you as soon as possible,” she promises, and Dora shares anxious looks with Remus at that.

“Be safe!” she calls out as Lydia ends the call.

“I need to go,” she says like she actually believes they’ll let her go on her own. She tries to reach for Floo powder but Dora takes a step closer to her to block her path. She tries to shove her away, sending her an exasperated look when she doesn’t budge.

“Dora, write a letter to Felix and to your mother to tell them they are not to come to my house. Better if that reaches them before.”

“Wait, where do you think you’re going?” Sirius asks, grabbing her hand. Lydia wrenches her hand free and replies in a emotionless voice that reminds Dora too much of her after the war, “I’m not going to sit there while Barty kills my brother.”

“He’s not going to kill Felix, he’s more likely to kill you,” Dora tries to reason with her but she rolls her eyes, trying to push her aside again.

“I’m not risking it.”

“Neither are we. But we can’t just go in without having any plan or any idea on what he might be planning.”

“Dora,” Lydia says with a coldly, and she flinches back at her tone, “You do realise that he could easily keep Felix as captive, don’t you? He’d probably do a lot better job than you did and I’d sell the lot of you quicker than you can imagine.”

Silence stretches inside the room until Remus declares, “I’ll go with Lydia, and Dora, you can go look for her brother.”

“You can’t,” she says, mouth stretching with a fake smile, “it’s under Fidelius.”

“Who’s the secret keeper?”

“Why does it matter? It’s not me,” she huffs, stepping around her to grab at the Floo powder. Dora tries to catch her but she manages to step around her and she calls out her house.

“She’s lost it,” Dora complains, as she grabs a handful of powder to follow her to her house.

When she steps into her house, she bites back a sigh of relief to see her healthy and with her wand out in caution. She acknowledges her with a slight nod, and casts a few wandless spells in the air and one towards the Floo, to block it.

“Someone has been there but not Felix,” she whispers, her face losing some of its’ tightness. She blinks a few times and tilts her ear upwards like she’s listening to something.

“I can’t be sure we’re alone,” she says but proceeds to leave the room. Dora rolls her eyes and trails after her, promising herself mentally to lecture Lydia on reckless acts when this is over.

Lydia almost breaks into a run to upstairs when they enter the hallway but Dora manages to catch her this time. She jerks her head to the kitchen and watches as her eyes widen and mouth fall open.

She takes a hesitant step towards the open door, leaning sideways to peek inside. “I don’t think he’s here,” she says in the end, slowly lowering her wand, her eyes scanning the empty mugs and dishes sitting next to the sink.

“Keep vigilant!” she hisses and Lydia looks sheepish, tightening her hand on her wand.

“Watch my back,” Dora orders, and Lydia nods quickly.

Dora levitates the letter sitting in the middle of the dining table and sends a few curse detector spells, even if she feels silly for performing them when she knows he’d probably use something fancy if he wanted to curse it.

She shoots Lydia a questioning look, and when Lydia doesn’t catch her gaze she calls back to get her attention. “Do you have any idea why he might have left this?”

Lydia swallows and nods, “I told him,” she begins but stops to clear her throat, “I told him I didn’t know he was well because he hasn’t sent me a letter.”

Dora shakes her head in bewilderment. “How touching.”

Lydia ignores the irony, and asks “May I have that now?”

“Not a chance,” she says, bringing out a safe-box from her pocket and enlarging it. “We’ll have to scan for any curses.” She’ll have to leave it to Snape, and she feels dreadful just by thinking about asking him for a favour.

Lydia watches her put it into the box without any protests, which makes her suspicious above anything. “You’re not going to try to steal it, are you?” she asks to be sure as she minimises it and puts it back into the pocket of her robe, spelling it shut.

Lydia shakes her head no, suddenly looking distracted. “I need to go upstairs.”

“I think we can find you something to wear,” Dora says exasperatedly, “We should leave immediately before he decides to come back for dinner.”

“It’s not clothes,” she says, “It’s very important if I’m not going to be able to come here soon.”

Dora examines her carefully, then nods curtly, following her with her wand raised up the stairs. She knows how much Lydia values her little memory box with all of her photos.

Lydia marches up to her wardrobe, kneeling down on the floor before she makes a small cut on her hand to open her vault. She grabs a bag and drops the box inside, proceeding to summon clothes with a sly look thrown at Dora.

The Floo in the room flares and they both run to it, their voices mingling when they see Remus.

“Hold on,” Remus laughs, “We found Felix in Leaky Cauldron and informed him. Block the Floo and come back here.”

“Did you call Andromeda?” Lydia asks.

“Sirius talked to her.”

“Okay, we’ll come back now,” Dora says, shooting a meaningful look at Lydia, who nods quickly.

They have go through the _five_ Floos in the house before they can leave.

“Do you really need that many?”

“The point isn’t what you need. It is having more than anyone. Besides, I know they have more Floos in Malfoy Manor,” she grins, “I remember my father was thinking about installing more because he was having a pissing contest with Abraxas Malfoy.”

“What happened?”

“He died before he could install new ones,” she says matter of factly. “Heart attack. He had an appetite and never believed he could be affected by Muggle diseases.”

Dora hums, at loss for what to say. She’s heard about a lot of wizards unexpectedly dying because they rejected getting examined by Healers who also studied Muggle medicine but it still baffles her.

“Come on, I want to leave,” Dora urges.

Lydia hesitates, biting onto her lip. “Shouldn’t we do dishes downstairs?”

Dora stares at her, trying to figure out if she’s joking or not. In the end she decides she’s not. “No. We’re going now. You need to sort your priorities.”

“They’re going to get moldy,” she objects but follows her away from the kitchen when she doesn’t answer.

They apparate outside Grimmauld Place, and Lydia suddenly looks sick.

“Are you sick?” she asks when Lydia stays rooted where she is.

Lydia considers for a moment, shaking her head no. “We didn’t even ask Sirius if I could stay here.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t object. He likes having people around,” she says neutrally, not willing to encourage her by telling her Sirius is probably ecstatic that she’s going to stay there.

“Alright,” she mumbles, still looking uncertain.

Dora puts Disillusionment Charm on both of them, to avoid being seeing by Mrs. Black. They still wake her up mad and send her into a rage but she fails to detect them.

When she blocks the charm, their bodies becoming apparent in front of Remus and Sirius, they startle and squeak. Dora bursts into giggles, hiding her face into Lydia’s shoulder, who laughs lightly compared to her.

“We could’ve hexed you,” Sirius says with arched brows, unimpressed.

“How could you miss your mother screaming?”

“We put on a Muffiliato. She had been droning on and on about upsetting Lydia,” Remus says.

Dora gives him a disappointed frown. “That’s really not safe.”

“You’re not the one who listens to her every single hour of the day,” Sirius grumbles.

“Well, now you can listen to her with Lydia,” she sits down, taking a sip from Remus’ tea. “Crouch had been there. He left a letter.”

“What does it say?”

“We didn’t open it. I’ll have to bring it to Snape first. He’ll probably get it back to Lydia on Tuesday when he comes back with Harry.”

“He’ll probably procrastinate to annoy me,” Lydia says with a tired voice, settling herself to the arm of the sofa Sirius is sitting in. Dora tries to convey with her glare how she feels about that but Sirius lifts his head up to smile at her, his eyes crinkling in the corners.

Lydia returns his smile with her own, but much more subsided and shy. “Is this okay with you? We haven’t asked for your permission.”

Sirius laughs, a dreamy expression crossing his face for a second. “Of course. You don’t need to ask.” His face settles into something more complex, swallowing as he turns his gaze away.

Dora wants to scream, shake them by their shoulders but she only takes a deep calming breath and covers her mouth with her hand. She kicks Remus under the table when he starts to look uncomfortable.

“I need to call my Grandmother too. She’s out of the country but I want to make sure,” she directs at Sirius.

“Go ahead,” Sirius says, gesturing towards the Floo. Lydia jumps to her feet without a word. She fiddles with it for a few minutes before a head pops up in the Floo and she sees her mouth move but no sound reaches them.

“Sirius,” Dora says, when she’s certain Lydia’s whole attention is on her grandmother.

Sirius turns to her, entwining his hands over his lap. He tries to feign nonchalance but his eyes keep darting to Lydia.

“Sirius,” Remus calls out.

“What?” he says impatiently.

“Are you two going to be okay?” he asks, and Dora turns to him with unbelieving eyes.

They are definitely worried about different things.

“Yes, we actually enjoy each other’s company, Moony, you know.”

“We know you do,” Tonks cuts in, “But I think you two are rushing it.”

“We’re not rushing anything,” Sirius says indignantly. He huffs, tossing his head back when they look at him with identical frowns. “What do you think is happening here?”

“Sirius,” Remus leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees, his voice gentle. “I know how you feel about her and she’s a great person but you need to remember she might choose to leave Britain again after this.”

Sirius’ face closes off but he doesn’t move or say anything. In the end, he forces a smile and shrugs. “That’s her choice. I can’t stop her even if I tried. She’s free to go anywhere and I have to stay here.”

Dora suddenly feels like a right arsehole for saying these but she truly doesn’t want Sirius to spiral into depression if Lydia decides to leave.

“Just talk to her about what she’ll do first, alright?” she mumbles, unable to look him in the eye.

They stand in an awkward silence until Lydia comes back with a sheepish smile. “Sirius, my grandmother wants to speak to you.”

“What?” his head snaps to her.

She shrugs, her face colouring slightly. “I don’t know what she wants to say. I could tell her you’re not available.”

Sirius shakes his head and pushes himself to his feet. He frowns when Lydia sits down on his place. “Aren’t you coming?”

“She wants to speak alone,” she mutters under her breath, toying with the straps of her bag, opening and closing it when no one says anything.

“Alright,” Sirius says with a grimace and nods to himself.

“Is he going to get a scolding?” Remus looks halfway between guilty and amused but a laugh wins out.

“I have no idea,” Lydia exhales. “She doesn’t give away anything when she doesn’t want to.”

“Did you tell her about Crouch?”

“Yeah, I had to. She wasn’t pleased with any of us,” she sighs, and adds, “she’s the secret keeper and she didn’t want to tell Barty my house back then. I got an earful of ‘I told you’.”

Sirius comes back a few minutes later, calm and collected. He asks if anyone wants coffee, even though he always preferred tea, without mentioning anything about what they talked about.

Lydia watches with worried eyes as he leaves to make her coffee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> now they're housemates. not that they're not used to it.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a chapter I've written quite in the past and it was one of the earliest scenes that played out in my mind. I hope you like this!

**Summer of 1970**

“I can get us out,” Lydia whispers into his ear, startling him under the watchful gaze of his mother. Her eyes narrow but she can’t reprimand Lydia, at least not in front of her grandmother, Elaine.

Sirius contemplates her, weighs pros and cons. On one hand, his mother is already furious with him after he cut his hand with a knife she specifically told him to stay away from. It took her three days to undo the curse and it was an agony he didn’t know before.

On the other hand, he’s bored as hell with the conversation.

This house, far more pleasant than Grimmauld Place, doesn’t make the warning bells in his head ring, even though almost all doors are jinxed. Mostly stinging hexes or a variant of ‘petrificus totalus’. Not very disheartening, given all the ways Sirius has accidentally injured himself to that day. They most certainly don’t have anything discriminating to hide. Maybe they just don’t want their guests to wander into their bedrooms.

His mother raises her voice a notch, asking Elaine if they’d plan the wedding on her seventeenth birthday or when they graduate.

She’s either reminding Sirius, or her grandmother. He bloody well knows her mother never stops thinking about their betrothal. She has more opinion on this subject than everyone in Britain and France combined.

He nods to Lydia after an eyeroll, which earns him an eyeroll back, with a wide grin.

“I’m going to show Sirius the books we got from Japan,” she lies smoothly, interrupting her grandmother midsentence. He wonders, with disappointment, if she meant out of the room, not the house. Nevertheless, he’d take that too, considering he doesn’t want to listen the same exact discussion ever again.

If this was Grimmauld Place, his mother wouldn’t have left them to their own devices, both for the traps and for that she finds it inappropriate. But Elaine doesn’t have the same objections and just waves her hand dismissively, oblivious to his mother’s displeasure. Or she just ignores it. Sirius likes that idea better.

He’s sure this will provide her something to gossip about when they go back to London.

She drags him out of the room in a blink, a tight grasp on his wrist, and they run up two stairs, until she stops short in front of a door and takes out a wand to whisper.

He was right after all. Their jinxes are not threats.

“When did you get your wand?” he asks when she opens the door. It opens up to a small bedroom, clean but clearly unused. She hushes him, and opens up a large window, which she climbs out of. “It’s my mother’s,” she answers when she closes the window behind them.

He follows her and laughs out loud when he realises this house is right in the middle of a Muggle Street, just like his house. But unlike Grimmauld Place, it’ not armed to teeth to keep from people wandering in. Or out.

“Is this the only way out?”

She looks at him weirdly, “Well, there’s the front door.”

His face burns, as almost every reminder of his family’s frantic measures does. He quickly asks, a lifetime reflex from living with Walburga Black his whole life. “How do you hide from the Muggles?”

She jerks her head to the longer side of the street and walks away with quick steps, slowing down only when they turn the corner. Sirius has to jog to keep up. She knows the streets quite well, Sirius thinks when she starts to dive into smaller streets. He wouldn’t be able to find his way around his own house if he got lost.

As he dwells on this , he realises she never answered the question. Sirius can smell a secret from a mile away. “I’m not going to tell anyone.”

She visibly hesitates, then demands with the brashness of someone who is used to be given anything they want, “Swear to me then.”

He holds up a hand to her, “I swear, on my life.”

She beams at him, taking his hand to shake. “Well, this is actually Grandmother’s house,” she says, squinting one eye under the bright sunlight, bouncing on her heels. “We stay here when my father is away on business. Nothing much to keep the Muggles away other than the usual stuff.”

Sirius knows by now that his family’s usual stuff is quite different from others’. ‘Not up to your mother’s standards’ stays unspoken.

“Is he gone a lot?” He’s seen the man only three times. It’s always Elaine with her.

“Most of the time,” she confirms. “He takes Evan with him sometimes. He says his work is not appropriate for a girl.”

Sirius thinks she’s very lucky for that. Even though Orion is not as overbearing as his mother, he allows his mother to decide on everything and barely ever says anything to help them when mother goes stir crazy with her rules.

“What about your mother?” he asks suddenly, realising the only time he saw her was when they got engaged.

Her face falls, “She’s ill most of the time. She stays with us but she’s weak, so we don’t want to tire her out with guests.”

He ponders over a topic to talk about as he follows her fast steps through the narrow alleyways, half annoyed with her for not striking up a conversation herself. He’s not used to talking people who isn’t his close family and when he sees other people, Mother is always with him.

She doesn’t make him walk for too long under the unbearable weather before she stops and orders him, “Sit while I get us something alright?”

He nods, settling in a slightly damp chair because what else he’s supposed to do? Something sprays above him and he jumps out of his chair, making it fall to the floor noisily. The woman behind the counter and Lydia jolt but they refrain from saying anything or laughing.

Lydia speaks in French, but in a different accent than he’s used to, different from what his mother finds appropriate, too quick for him to understand. His mother would be livid if she knew he couldn’t keep up with the locals.

He watches the woman cut a round chocolate cheesecake with a knife, chatting animatedly with Lydia and she puts it on a flimsy looking white plates. She hands Lydia two cylinders with writings on it.

All of it is so Muggle. Sirius is in awe with her daring.

And the feeling ricochets when she hands the woman Muggle money.

The woman puts their plates on their table with an amiable smile and Sirius manages a fickle one. Lydia doesn’t meet his eyes when she takes her place across him, even though it must be obvious he’s stunned. None of this is usual or normal. His mother, who gets upset when they cross paths with halfbloods, would have an aneurysm if he saw them here. Mother would probably think he was the one to convince Lydia and give Lydia a lecture on how she should be the responsible one, making sure he behaves appropriately.

She twists the metal on top of the bottle and it hisses loudly. He takes his own and imitates what he’s seen from her. It takes him a few tries but he does it. Some of it spills onto his hands and she laughs.

“What’s this?” he asks, the bottle halfway to his mouth.

“Coke,” she leans in to whisper, her eyes darting around to make sure they’re not being spied on, like she’s forgotten they are in the middle of a Muggle street, sitting in a Muggle cafe, eating the Muggle food she paid with Muggle money. “Grandma doesn’t allow us to have more than one in a month. Says it rots the teeth.”

Sirius thinks the most interesting thing in her sentence is that his grandmother allows them to have these _at all_. Sirius and Regulus are not even allowed to breathe the same air as Muggles.

He takes a sip and promptly snorts it out of his nose. He dabs at his face with a napkin, his face flaming at the sound of her loud laughter. The Muggle woman gives them an amused smile and he tries to gather his dignity by not acknowledging anything.

“That’s vile.”

She rolls her eyes, impatient like he is with Regulus sometimes and doesn’t that hurt, “I’ll have that too then,” she says, her hand snatching it quicker than he can follow. Sirius tries not to scowl, because he was too surprised by the bubbles that he couldn’t even taste it.

She shamelessly watches him as she eats her cake. Her eyes look like a cat’s, the ones that sometimes roam around their garden, the ones that his mother feeds herself, much to anyone’s bewilderment. Sirius finds it weird that Mother doesn’t have ideas on nobility of animals, and actually prefers strays to pure-bred ones Aunt Druella loves. Sirius doesn’t draw attention to that parallel.

Sirius refrains from squirming, as she tilts her head almost in a mockery. It’s not like there is something not to like looking at him, as his mother would say. She is very proud of how her sons look.

He grabs his drink back when the cake becomes too sweet, nothing like the mild porridge his mother allows them after dinner. She doesn’t comment on this, and he’s shamefully grateful. The taste is truly vile, he wasn’t just being a twat for the sake of it, but he manages to gulp it down without an incident.

In retaliation, he decides to stare back at her. It doesn’t have the desired effect, she doesn’t take her gaze away. Instead, her eyes turn from curious to intense.

Sirius can’t say if Lydia is particularly pretty. He hasn’t seen many girls apart from his cousins because hardly anyone is good enough for his mother. Sirius finds she resembles mostly Narcissa, in the way sits or charms people with meaningless compliments. In the way she holds a plastic Muggle fork, of all things. They say Narcissa is the prettiest of them all, and she has to be because she’s also the dullest out of three of them. Their similarities are not ground-breaking because he knows Lydia spends far more time with her than Bella or Andy, owing to his mother’s dedication to bring news from Lydia.

He reckons she’s much more prettier than the Parkinson girl but that doesn’t tell much considering the girl is uglier than a troll. He goes through families in his mind to find someone to compare her to. Lestranges don’t have any daughters, not in the main line and his mother won’t have anyone who isn’t the heart of a line. That doesn’t allow them much wriggling room, thus the fact that he can only think of a couple girls around her age.

He shudders just by thinking about Vivian Burke. He’d piss his pants if he woke up one day to find her lying next to him.

In the end, he thinks he struck the best deal he could have.

“I wish Reggie was with us,” she muses, the first thing she said unprompted and it takes him by surprise. Because rarely anyone thinks about his brother when he’s around, including their parents.

That’s why, he thinks later, he said what he said. Years later, he’ll admit it was jealousy. “You’re naïve if you think he wouldn’t snitch if he was here.”

Her whole face closes off, and she regards him for a long moment with cold eyes, looking more like Bella than Narcissa.

Narcissa never allows her emotions to show on her face. Always a smile, always some bullshit to steer clear from the dangerous subjects.

She smiles, honey sweet. Oh, he thinks, we’re back to Narcissa.

“Is that so? Does he snitch on you often then?” she asks, and Sirius falters, because he didn’t expect her to poke the topic further. That’s not Narcissa.

“Not really,” he says finally, because he doesn’t actually want to badmouth his brother.

“Then why did you say that?” she says putting down her fork, her tone sharp and her eyes narrowed. He tries to catalogue this look into someone he knows but it doesn’t fit and he’s lost.

“I don’t know,” he manages to say with an even voice, but her face softens and she shakes her head with a mischievous smile. “It’s alright, Merlin knows the things I say about Evan.”

Sirius doesn’t know what she says about her brother but the shame still sits heavy in his stomach.

“Where did you get the money?” he asks, to distract her. He thinks he sounds accusatory but she doesn’t look offended, just fidgety. He interrupts before she can come up with a lie.

“Still a part of our secret.”

Her face breaks into a bright smile, and she bounces on her chair with excitement. “Barty gave it to me,” she reveals, looking at him expectantly. To his blank look she adds, much more subdued, “Barty’s grandfather is a halfblood.”

He knows this, of course he does, because Barty’s something like a distant cousin. Not shameful enough to blast off his grandmother from the family tapestry but enough to but some distance between them. In case it’s contagious, Sirius thinks sarcastically.

She sighs looking at the clock. “We should get back, it takes about half an hour for them to agree on a new wedding date,” she says, sarcastic and disinterested. She doesn’t take any of this seriously, he realises, doesn’t think they will see the end of it.

Sirius wants to laugh. She doesn’t know his mother at all.

“You don’t seem bothered,” he comments. She just shrugs, grabbing their plates from the small table to put them into the bin. Sirius has never cleaned the table himself, not once in his life. After a moment of hesitation he grabs their bottles.

“It was Father’s idea,” she explains, taking the wrong one from his hands but he doesn’t object. Then her lips quirk, “I hear his health is not getting better.”

Sirius is hit with confusion, because she can’t be that dense, no matter how free they live here in this small city in France, away from the probing eyes of other pureblood families.

“What’s that got to do with us?”

She rolls her eyes again, like he’s the stupid one here. “My grandmother says she’ll fix it when the time comes.”

That seems even more absurd because no family would be pureblood if they started marrying out of love, or whatever.

“She married the guy she loved, is that so?” he asks, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“No,” she snaps, actually stomping her foot on the ground as she quickly moves between the streets, taking a swig. Her glare burns a hole in his face but he doesn’t look over at her as he takes a sip himself. “That’s the point isn’t it? She didn’t.”

He finally looks over at her but she seems to have calmed down. “Don’t worry, there are plenty other pureblood girls out there,” she says dismissively, and Sirius, horrified, realises she thinks he’s worried about losing a “pureblood girl from a respectable family.”

“I do not care about how many pureblood girls are out there,” he lashes out, and immediately looks around to make sure no one heard.

She scoffs, haughty, taking in the way he panicked right after the words were out of his mouth. “Well, your mother cares. She’ll find you another one for her heir whether I’m there or not.”

Sirius doesn’t argue because she’s right and his heart squeezes at the thought of other possibilities.

The look on his face must have spurred her on because she continues after a quick glance back at his face, and Sirius wonders if she’s doing it on purpose, if she wants him to crawl and beg for her to keep him.

“Parkinson makes the most sense of course,” she drawls and skin crawls at the memory of her yellow robes, “Macmillan girl is fat, so your mother hates her on principle. Not likely but possible if she loses weight. There’s a Yaxley if I’m remembering correctly. She’s five right now but that won’t matter when she’s of age.” He realises he completely forgot about that.

“Stop,” he orders, but she just cocks an eyebrow, her eyes alight with glee and right there, she’s Bellatrix again, but then she deflates, looking sheepish and guilty.

“You don’t have to worry, alright?” she says, her voice soothing. “You don’t have to marry anyone you don’t want to. We’ll keep up the appearances.” Then she rolls her eyes _again_ , irritated and impatient. She does that a lot, Sirius notes. “ _I have to_ , until my father dies.”

Sirius still finds it disconcerting that she’s talking about his father’s death like they’re waiting for it.

“What happens if he doesn’t die?”

He thinks it’s a very sensible question but she looks at him like she’s disappointed in his intelligence.

“Then we marry, and go to whomever we like afterwards,” she snaps, and he recoils back in shock. He shuts his gaping mouth when she tosses her head back like his reaction offends her. His teeth hurts from the impact.

He heard such things before of course, he spends too much time around gossipy women to not notice, his mother drilling Aunt Druella with implications about what they do in France and his cousins whispering in high pitched voices when their elders leave them alone.

He pulls himself back together quickly, and snaps right back at her, “So my mother kills us both in our sleep? I’d rather marry Parkinson, thank you.”

She laughs, unbothered by his comparison, “Well, I’d rather marry Regulus, so I guess that works.”

His vision blackens for a moment as he imagines it, him with the hideous Parkinson girl with her yellow teeth and her matching yellow robes, stuck in Grimmauld Place; Lydia and Regulus staying in France, away from their parents and _free._

“No,” he grits out.

She laughs harder, “Yes,” she says gleefully, grabbing the bottle from his hands to throw them both in a bin, “An engagement between me and a Black boy. You or Reggie.”

She quickly looks around to make sure they’re not being watched as she climbs up the stairs and he follows her inside, his head filled to the brim with questions.

They quickly make their way to the sitting room, only to be faced by two women watching the door, one with amusement, one with clear disapproval.

“Where have you been? We’ve looked everywhere,” his mother barks. Lydia shoves him away with her shoulder and sits next to his mother, all control and posh pureblood girl.

“Sirius was telling me about Quidditch, we tried out the brooms we have,” she lies, no hesitation, no flinching, no looking sideways. Sirius would never suspect if he wasn’t there with her.

His mother’s eyes pause to take in his slightly sweaty face, red from staying under the sun, then she nods, accepting the excuse. She sends Sirius a meaningful look, with a dash of humour in them.

Lydia’s grandmother comes up to him with a teacup and he takes it from her, scared to look into her eyes in case he can’t erase his thoughts from his face.

But he has to when she points a wand at his shirt, angling her body to block his mother’s eyesight. He steals a glance at her shrewd eyes, then quickly down to the wand.

A few drops of his drink, vanished before his mother can see.

When he looks back up, he thinks, _here’s someone who likes me even less than Lydia._


	14. Chapter 14

Lydia keeps a strained smile on as she discreetly tries to shoo Dora out, so Remus would retire to his room as well. Sirius manages to look completely at ease and unruffled, though Lydia can’t see how that can be true. It bothers her, not being able to detect signs of his impatience. She doesn’t know what would be worse, if he really wasn’t as anxious as her for them to leave or if she lost her ability to understand him.

It hits one o’clock before Dora leaves, and Lydia keeps eating the food Kreacher and Sirius bring to keep busy. She wants to open the button of her jeans but she doesn’t get an opportunity to do it without anyone noticing. She’d never been more grateful to her past self for wearing baggy sweater. She had been putting on some weight in the last years but refusing to up her clothing sizes.

Remus stays after Dora leaves, probably due to Dora’s instructions, his lids dropping before he startles awake.

Sirius gives her an awkward smile when their eyes meet as they stare at Remus.

“Shall I show you to your room?”

“Oh, thank you,” she whispers not to wake Remus up, not allowing herself to get excited when Sirius might actually just want to show her to a room and leave. She grabs her bag from the floor and follow him out, muttering a goodnight to a bewildered but pleased Walburga.

She wonders if Sirius will let her take Regulus’ room or if it’s still a forbidden subject between them. She doesn’t know how she’ll reject it if he tries to give her his parents’ room.

But Sirius leads her to his own room.

She gives him an odd look but walks inside, gingerly setting her bag on the desk. The bed is still messy from her leaving in a rush.

Sirius fiddles with his thumbs, his head bowed like a guilty schoolboy. “You should take my bed,” he says into the silent room, his voice low but clear.

Lydia doesn’t startle, gazing at Sirius’ face carefully. Earlier in the day, she had left her guard down out of exhaustion and let herself say things she wouldn’t easily say. She let herself bare her soul, confess her desires to one person that could crush her like an insect.

“We will you be staying?” she asks levelly.

Sirius lifts a shoulder, his mouth curling to one side. “Whatever you say.”

Lydia huffs in surprise. “I can’t kick you out of your room. I can take any other room, I’m not that picky.”

Sirius’ cheek spasms like he’s holding back a laugh but he nods seriously. “Yeah but the other rooms are so garish. I prefer to sleep as Padfoot anyway. I’ll take the floor, if that’s okay with you.”

Lydia turns her gaze heavenwards. “You can’t sleep on the floor.”

Sirius smiles, a small, secretive one that causes something like a tornado to appear in her chest. “I can sleep by your feet. I’ll keep you warm.”

She regards him with a straight face but inside, she feels like a teenager with her first love again.

She’s an adult with her first love but that doesn’t dampen her spirits. She feels young in her older body with her ever aching back.

“That works for me,” she mumbles, suddenly feeling embarrassed by how much she’s liking this arrangement and how Sirius is probably seeing right through her. It doesn’t matter that she’s only agreeing to what Sirius is offering, her face still flushes as their eyes meet.

She points a thumb towards the bathroom, “Do you mind if I shower?”

“By all means.”

She washes her hair with Sirius’ shampoo because she forgot to bring hers with her and she notes that in her mind to order a new bottle in the morning. She’d have owled the shop if she was in her own house, to get the bottle shipped in the morning before she leaves but she doesn’t want to ask for an owl in the middle of the night because she had to order something she wouldn’t need until late next day.

She goes through her night routine fast, because she doesn’t want to go back inside and find Sirius already asleep.

Her face turns into one big smile when she find him sitting cross legged on the foot of the bed. She paddles closer to him, sitting down next to him as she dries her hair with her towel first. Sirius’ eyes land on her puffy slippers, his face going thoughtful for a second before it dissolves and turns into a playful smile.

“Why not a dog?”

“You know I’m a rabbit person,” she says, taking the slippers off pointedly.

“You’re a dog person.”

“No,” she leans back on her palms, letting the towel drop from her head. “I absolutely despise how much hair they leave behind.”

He looks at her for a moment, before a big black mass topples her down and throws his back in victory, resting his paws on her shoulder to keep her still, his tail wagging. Lydia tries to tickle him but it only serves to excite him more, making him pant harsher above her.

She starts to laugh, her laughs turning into coughs after a few seconds when she chokes on her spit and Sirius promptly transforms back into his human form, his worried face hovering above her.

She sits back up and shakes her head to stop him from patting her on the back as she takes a few deep breaths before she can smile again. “Sorry.”

“You’re going to catch cold,” he says, eyeing her hair like it’s the reason she coughed. He reaches back to grab his wand, pointing to her head before he freezes. “May I?”

Lydia crawls closer to the middle of the bed, turning her back to him so he can access her hair easily. She hears him shift and feels the bed dip a little when his hand first touches her nape to lift a strand of damp hair, causing a pleasant shiver to go through her body. He works through each strand one by one, taking far longer time than it used to take him, his fingers combing through when he’s done and making her doze off with his tenderness and the lightness of his touch.

Her eyelids drop, with the combination of today’s events, her bath and his fingers working through her hair and she falls asleep, her last though being how much she would’ve loved it if she could have this every day.

***

She wakes up in stages. First she becomes aware that she’s quite warm, an oddity in winter days because her house never warms up enough, to show her displeasure at Lydia for living alone. Then she realises a weight has settled over her stomach and it is actually hard to breathe. She blinks her eyes open and peeks downwards to see Sirius in his dog form, his head resting on her. she lifts her hand and scratches the back of his ears and caresses his nuzzle gently, not to wake him up.

She grimaces when she realises she needs to pee but she doesn’t have it in her to shove him off. She absentmindedly keeps patting him, her mind going over how to deal with work and her family. Her grandma had been furious and she is truly scared to learn what she said to Sirius yesterday.

For all these she looked after Lydia, it was the first time she shouted at her. It makes her feel like a naughty stupid child at the age of thirty four, making her squirm for disappointing her.

She doesn’t know if she was more angry for staying with Sirius or for not listening to her fifteen years ago about Barty.

She really turned a blind eye to Barty back then. She has no one but herself to blame. But she finds it a bit harsh that everyone puts all the blame on her. Who would’ve easily accepted that their best friend has joined a terrorist organisation that he doesn’t believe in? She remembers all those times they’ve sneaked into Muggle bars and theatres, how many times they’ve eaten at their restaurants and how many Muggles they’ve met during their summer in Nice.

Dora also surprises her with her open opposition to her and Sirius. She understands why she feels torn, she knows Dora thinks she’ll flee at the first chance she gets. She sees where she’s coming from and hates herself for not being able to drag her by her arm and tell her she’s not going anywhere.

She always tried to solve her problems by running away but none of them resolved. They laid low, grew and stuck their heads out fifteen years later to haunt her.

She gasps in surprise when she feels wetness on her hand, and looks down to find Sirius nudging his nose into her hand. She smiles at the sight of his beautiful eyes, and runs her hand through his coarse for one last time.

“You mind getting off me? I need to use the loo,” she mumbles, hiding a grin when Sirius whimpers but obeys.

She examines her bare face in the mirror and feels her stomach drop to see she has gone even paler in the last year. She had been anxious about Barty and Sirius, and she wasn’t able to stomach lounging under the sun in Greece when one of them was Kissed and one of them was on the run. She applies her creams and contemplates putting on makeup but decides to forego it. She’ll be staying inside for the whole day anyway.

She doesn’t pretend she doesn’t realise a huge part of her wants Sirius to see her at her ugliest. She wants her to see all the unglamorous parts and still want her.

Sirius runs at her when she exits, almost tripping her when he stand on his back legs and leans his front paws on her shoulder. She takes a step back to gather her balance but manages to put her feet firmly on the floor, and pinches his cheeks, twisting her torso away when he tries to lick her face.

“I’ve just applied my creams,” she giggles as he tries to reach her, “they’re custom made and gets prepared in months. I can’t be wasteful.”

Sirius abruptly transforms back into his human form and rolls his eyes dramatically. “Whatever you’ll do if you run out of those.”

“Nag you, that’s what I’ll do,” she says, sitting down to rummage through her bag. She grabs a pair of light blue joggers and a white oversized sweatshirt, sliding in a pair of underwear between them to change into.

Sirius goes through his wardrobe as she takes out all other necessities, loud as he ever is, knocking into corners, dropping wrong trousers as he tries to grab another one.

He calls her name when she tries to decide if she should just go in the bathroom to change or if that would be rude. “I emptied some shelves and racks for you. Not that there were much left after you threw everything away,” he says, his eyes gleaming as if daring her to fall into his trap.

She widens her eyes mockingly. “Very clever move on my part. I’ve always been foreseeing.”

Sirius hums bunching his clothes and walking into the bathroom with a small, self satisfied smile on his face. “I’ll shower now. Make yourself at home.”

“Okay, I’ll head down once I dress,” she mumbles, eyeing the space Sirius had given her because she doesn’t think she can meet his eyes without blushing and stuttering. It’s the tenth of space she’s got in her own house but it’ll be enough for the stuff she brought with her.

She dreamed of many things but she never dared to believe they could have what they had again. She still doesn’t know if they’ll turn back to what they were and in reality, she doesn’t even want to go back. She wants them to create something new, something more gentle and forgiving. She wants to love without hurting him and she wants the same back from him.

She places most of her stuff with practiced ease and decides to do the rest later when her stomach actually starts to hurt from hunger. She realises she didn’t even check the time yet and is surprised when she sees it’s almost lunch time.

She hops down the stair, too cheerful considering what happened yesterday but she can’t help the feeling everything is going in the right direction.

She smiles a little shyly when she spots Remus in the kitchen, enjoying a cup of tea. He returns her smile and doesn’t pester her with questions about the sleeping arrangements but watches her intently as she starts the coffee and rummages through ingredients.

“Do you want as well?” she asks politely.

“No, I’ve eaten already. Dora stopped but had to leave because she needed to go to work.”

She nods, a little horrified to learn that she actually came back to check if she was listening her words.

“Did you sleep well?” he asks when she’s mixing the eggs with cheese. She pauses for a second before she airily replies, “Very well. Sirius’ bed is extremely comfortable.”

“I’m sure it is. And Padfoot is quite warm.”

She turns to look at him, and arches a brow. “How do you know about that?”

“That’s what he does to get his way,” he laughs, “You should know about it. Don’t tell me you fell for it.”

“I didn’t,” she assures him, “It would take a lot more than that for Sirius to trick me into doing something I don’t want to do.”

“What would I need to do to trick you?” Sirius cuts in, his hair damp from his shower, his fingers fumbling with his shirt buttons.

Remus opens his mouth but Lydia beats him to it. “We were talking about Padfoot.”

Remus’ face flushes but Sirius merely snorts and sits down, watching her cook. “I can make you do anything as Padfoot,” he says confidently.

“You can try,” she counters, ignoring the way Remus clearly records everything they say to report back to Dora. She drains the eggs into the pan and a drop of hot oil lands on her hand and she flinches back in pain, checking to make sure it she’s not injured. She regards the pan with mild disgust and pokes the handle with caution to make sure it won’t fall when she picks it up.

“You need new kitchen utensils,” she informs Sirius as her eyes roam over what he has.

“Yes, it’s such a priority,” he says sarcastically.

“Don’t be an arse,” she fakes a smile, “these will give you cancer if you insist on using them.”

Sirius opens his mouth but refrains from spilling what comes to the tip of his tongue and nods. “I’ll get to that.”

“I can order them for you, I’m going to need to use the owl anyway,” she says, putting their plates on the table. She glances at Sirius to see what he says to that but he seems to have forgotten about that already. She refrains from rolling her eyes and decides to order them anyway.

She flips the omelette with succession and smiles, pleased with her product.

“Do you guys want coffee?” she asks, squinting at the ancient coffee maker trying to understand if it’s brewed already.

They both refuse, much to her pleasure because the whole pot would be barely enough for her. Sirius gets up to make himself a cup of tea, his hand ghosting over her back as he passes her.

“What will you do about work?” Remus asks when they both settle down.

She sighs. “I’ll take a month off. I didn’t use my yearly vacation last year and stayed to cover for others.”

Sirius’ fork hovers in the air but he quickly recovers.

“Oh,” Remus’ eyebrows shot upwards, “That’s good. We were worried about the security at the university.”

She snorts, hastily swallowing the bite to use her chance to to talk shit about university management. “It’s non-existent. Do you know how many times I had to escort a family member out when we explicitly said we have delicate classes? A few Galleons and all the doors open.”

Sirius frowns, taking a sip. “Who takes care of the security?”

“Easton Macmillan,” she spits out with distaste, “do you remember him? He was always following us around to report back to Evan.”

Sirius’ eyebrows scrunch in thought and he lays his fork down to rub at his temples. “No, I don’t remember him.”

Lydia is once again taken aback that he doesn’t remember such things. They’ve talked about Easton more than dozens of times, made fun of him and ruined his relationship with Evan by providing him false information by pretending to talk secretively in front of him. Sirius loved telling this story to James.

He didn’t remember the first café they went together either. She has examined some people after they were released from Azkaban but none of them had any symptoms of amnesia. It worries her, no matter how much she tells herself that they don’t really have a healthy information of a long stay in Azkaban. It’s either something like six months or a life time sentence.

She comes back to her senses and realises her mind had wandered off and they were watching her with varying degrees of worry and amusement.

“Anyway,” she clears her throat, “he is my nemesis. One of us will end up with the other’s blood on our hands. I’ll tell you the whole story sometime. He doesn’t have any power over when we get time off though, so he won’t be able to raise a problem. I’ll have to stop by the university and talk to the head of the department though.”

Remus nods, “I’ll come with you, if that’s okay. We don’t want you to be alone in the public, especially after Dolohov escaped.”

The name causes her heart to skip a beat but she smiles gratefully. “I’d like that. Is eight o’clock okay to leave? I want to catch her before the rush.”

“Sure.”

“When will Harry come? Tuesday?”

Sirius’ face brightens and he confirms. “He’s complaining about missing Quidditch practices though.”

Lydia rolls her eyes, “Like father like son.”

Sirius lets out a laugh, and he shares a fond look with Remus. But their faces sour and they both look wistful with their bittersweet smiles. Lydia feels like a bitch for bringing him up but doesn’t apologise to bring more attention to the subject.

“Do you like it?” she points to his plate.

Sirius tilts his head, “I do. But I expected something fancier.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers. You are welcome to cook if this is too bland for you.”

“Would you eat what I cooked?”

“If I wanted to get some stomach issues, of course.”

“What’s the point of cooking if I won’t get compliments for it?”

“People usually do it to feed themselves. A basic survival instinct.”

“I learn new things with you every day,” Sirius says with huge, bright eyes, and Lydia find herself unable to look away from his carefree face.

“You’re welcome,” she sniffs, tossing her head back to drink the last drops of her coffee. “So, how will you entertain me today?”

“We can clean the library and see where that goes,” he offers.

She beams at him at the thought of that. “Do you still have that record player?”

“It’s somewhere in the basement,” he says, hesitant. “I can look for it.”

She waves her hand, “No, we’ll look for it together. Hey, what happened to those cats your mum used to look after?”

“There are still some that comes and goes but not as many,” he says, his sadness almost palpable. He laughs lightly to himself, his mouth curling to one side. “Didn’t she try to give you one of the kittens of her favourite cat when we started Hogwarts?”

“She did! I wish I had taken up on her offer,” she says, “I thought I’d get an owl for myself but I didn’t have anyone to write letters other than my grandmother and our family owl flew around Hogwarts until I’ve written my reply.”

“We can go check if there are more,” he says, levitating their plates and mugs into the sink and they start to wash themselves.

“Really? I’d love that. We could get Kreacher to bring us some cat food. You know what?” she stands up, pushing Sirius away from her way. “I’m going to go ask your mother.”

“What? Are you-“ he splutters in indignation but Lydia ignores his protests, and walks towards the portrait with determined purpose.

“Mrs. Black? Do you have a moment?” she whispers, smiling politely when the woman opens her jaundiced eyes a fraction. Her face loses it’s harsh lines when she recognises Lydia and she beams, looking as beautiful as she was during her prime years for a moment.

“Yes, my dear,” she says, her excitement evident from her tone.

“Sirius and I were thinking about checking the cats around and I wanted to ask you how you used to take care of them.”

Mrs. Black inhales, the sound echoing in the empty hallway. She blinks a few times before she nods, rendered speechless. “Grab a notebook and a pen,” she says, like a woman who set her eyes on a prize.

***

Sirius grumbles, muttering about his mother, squatting to place another pot of cat food from the Muggle veterinary two streets down. They place the pots with two meters between them and put a big bowl of water right in the middle.

“Quit it,” she says, exasperated, “Imagine all those cute kitties walking around when you look outside. We should arrange this garden as well. The earth here is fertile and-”

“Lydia,” he huffs, pushing a strand of hair away from his face with his shoulder, “this house will be uninhabitable no matter how much you struggle.”

“Look at me.”

Sirius’ jaw tenses but he does. The lines around his mouth and his eyes seem deeper, making him a lot older than he is, like the first time she saw him here.

“Please keep an open mind about this,” she gently says, “try with me. You don’t have to be miserable. It’s in your hands to make good memories here.”

Sirius stares at her, his hands closing into fists over his knees, his knuckles turning white. His thighs shake almost invisibly, and he gulps. He shifts his gaze sideways but turns back to her instantly. He doesn’t answer her with words or nod but Lydia is almost sure he’s trying to keep the tears back.

She pats her hands together to get rid of the soil, and gets to her feet. She walks towards him where he’s still down and holds out a hand to him. He takes her hand and lets her haul him to his feet. She holds his hands between hers and swats at the dirt on his palms. She feels reluctant to release his hands and he seems to sense it, interlocking their fingers.

She lifts her head to look at his face but the sun almost blinds her, and she scrunches her face, closing one eye. Sirius laughs, freeing one of his hands to tuck a strand behind her ear and tugs at her to step into the shadows.

“This is a good memory.”

Lydia smiles with her mouth closed but she saves this to her memory, to return to when things get darker and she thinks her life will never get better.

“Do you want to go make new memories in the library?”

Lydia thinks Sirius has never been more beautiful than he is now when he throws his head back in an almost bark like laugh.

She takes a quick shower and basically runs back to the library to not waste any time. She finds him in front of the first shelves, looking around the gigantic room with hopelessness.

“Maybe we should leave this place as it is,” he says, a slight hope in his voice.

“But they’ll rot and you’ll have a lot harder time later.”

“Well, come up with a plan then.”

They work together for hours until they are both covered in grime and dust, going over each book to decide where it belongs and cleaning them thoroughly. Kreacher comes by a few times with food and shrieks in indignation each time at the state they’re in. He mentions new kitchen utensils and shampoos, talking about prodigality, not aware Lydia ordered them. Lydia knows he’ll have started talking back to Sirius if she wasn’t there but he holds his tongue, babbling about fixing her a room until Sirius hisses out an order to leave them alone.

They find some sinister looking books that they don’t dare touch or open, and they put them in a pile to hide in a locked room after they decide against letting the Ministry take them, lest they end up in someone else’s hands.

She puts a spell on the books that catches her interest but she gives up after something around fiftieth book and cancels her spells, setting two apart to take back to upstairs.

They decide to stop when they’re only done with the first section out of the seven in the library.

They throw themselves on the cold, hard floor, their hair a mess and both smelling faintly of dust, and sweat of their hard work.

“Do you need to write or talk to someone?”

Lydia’s head rolls sideways, and she tries to open her eyes. “What? No, no, grandmother and Felix already know, so it’s alright.”

Lydia almost falls asleep again when Sirius’ voice startles her awake. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

At first, the words don’t register and she thinks she must be delirious because how can he ask that? Then he realises he did ask that, and her eyes snap open to stare at him. “Do you really believe I’d be here with you if I did?”

Sirius doesn’t react to her snippy answer, his eyes unblinking as he takes deep, stable breaths. Lydia thinks it’s not fair that he has such beautiful eyes, because they’ve always made it harder to think when he turned them on her with all of his attention.

“I don’t know,” he says, his voice steady, “Out of pity.”

Lydia lets out a disbelieving laugh and pushes herself to a sitting position, glaring down at him. “I don’t pity you at all. You made your own bed.”

Sirius’ blank mask crumbles, hurt and guilt replacing it.

Lydia wants to smack him across the head but makes do with throwing herself back on the floor, to see eye to eye. “Merlin’s sake, Sirius. I meant for not taking the Veritaserum when they offered a trial.”

Sirius frowns, his confusion clear. “How do you know about that?”

In her own head, Lydia throttles herself until she faints with lack of oxygen but it doesn’t matter because inside, she’s cleverer and doesn’t blurt out unnecessary things because she’s tired. “Why do you think?” she grumbles, averting her eyes.

This time, he straightens to stare down. “I thought my mother and grandfather fixed that.”

She tries to shrug but she doesn’t know if she actually does it. She aches all over.

“Your mother tried to help when I asked. She gave a very heartfelt and enthusiastic speech about how much of a bloodtraitor you were. No one was impressed by her or by me though.”

“Wait a second,” he holds a finger up, his face draining of it’s colour, “Is this what you meant by blackmail?”

She groans, hiding her face in her shoulder. “It was more like a deal. Your trial for information.”

“What kind of information did you have?” he presses, nudging her foot with his own when she drowses off. “Crouch?”

“No, I learned that with everyone else when he was caught with Lestranges,” she snaps, kicking his foot away, “When are you going to believe I didn’t know about him?”

“Then what did you give them?” Sirius asks in a low voice.

“Let it go,” she mumbles, trying to fight off sleep. “It’s been fifteen years.”

Sirius’ eyes narrow and Lydia knows it’s inevitable that everyone finds out about this but finds it impossible to give a single fuck. Realisation dawns on his face quicker than she expected and his breath hitches in his throat.

“Lydia,” he breathes out, “I’m so sorry.”

Her hand finds his in the dark, as she loses her battle with her eyelids.

“I don’t regret it,” she mumbles, letting sleep take over her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've started my internship for my last year in university and guys I don't think I've ever been this tired all the time. I have to wear N95 + surgical mask for hours and it takes me at least an hour to decontaminate everything and myself when I get home. So this is me saying I might not update as frequently anymore because I hardly have time to sleep. But I'll try to keep up with one chapter per week anyway.
> 
> Stay healthy and happy!


	15. Chapter 15

**November 1981, Ministry of Magic.**

Frank Longbottom catches him outside his office.

“We’ve got Lydia Rosier in the interrogation room. Mr. Crouch is accompanying her,” he rushes to say before Moody can disappear into another operation.

He stops short, “Is she giving out names?”

Frank looks at him in surprise. Having worked with Moody for about ten years, he thought Moody would assume she was here as a suspect. He shakes his head quickly, pulling himself together before Moody can snap at him. “We thought she would, but she’s just been yelling at us about Sirius Black,” he says, his voice laced with confusion and sense of betrayal whenever his name pops up, “refuses to give any information.”

“We’ll get it out of her,” Moody grunts, his voice hard, leaning on his door to ease the weight on his hips.

Frank hesitates, and Moody nods for him to continue. “They were together for a very long time. Maybe we should hear her out.”

Moody glowers at him but Frank doesn’t avert his eyes under the pressure.

They all know she’ll be questioned as a suspect along with her brother.

He doesn’t say another word before he limps away to the only interrogation room that’s occupied.

None of the heads turn to him when he enters the room. Bartemius Crouch Senior sports a sneer, chewing a piece of gum viciously. The girl’s face crumbles for a second as her distaste shows clear as day, and Crouch’s eyes narrow at her.

She’s dressed impeccably, like she though a good appearance would make a difference.

“You’re not listening,” the girl rubs her hands against her pale face in frustration, her eyes red rimmed. “Not in a million million years!” She taps the table with each word.

“How lucky we are to have you to point out our wrongs,” Crouch mock gasps, unnecessarily close and a few drops of his spit lands on her face.

Her face morphs into one of disgust but she doesn’t move to wipe it off. She discreetly moves back. “It’s impossible,” she repeats, her voice strangely calm after all the shouting she’s been doing. “Are you really going to send someone into Azkaban without a trial? That should be illegal,” she begs, her fingers clutching the table. “None of this makes sense.”

“A stupid girl in love,” Crouch scoffs, ignores her desperate words, tapping his wand on the table, “unless you have something to provide us, I’ll ask you to leave until we start process on your trial. You’ve wasted enough time as it is.”

“My trial?” she asks, her brows furrowed in confusion, “why would I have a trial?”

Crouch smirks, pleased to have rankled her. She hides her face in her palms, rocking front to back. She doesn’t realise her misery is causing such entertainment to people around the room, not limited to Crouch. She takes a deep breath before she mumbles, “If you really need to, go ahead. I’ve got nothing to hide.”

The man scoffs and gets up, sending a malicious look to the girl.

Alastor Moody, who has never been called sensitive or naive in his entire life, wonders if there’s truth in her words.

He takes Crouch’s place, and motions the other Aurors to leave. They share indecisive looks, but they don’t dare raise any objections when he stares at them again.

“Ms. Rosier,” he greets her when they close the door behind them.

“Auror Moody,” she says, her voice even and polite. She crosses her legs and regards him with wet eyes. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Likewise,” he says. “So, I heard you came here on your own.”

“I did, after I heard Sirius was arrested for killing the Potters,” she gives out a disbelieving laugh.

“Yes, a lot of people couldn’t believe it either.”

“Because it’s mental,” she scoffs, “You’re only choosing the easy way out when you should be interrogating what really happened.”

Moody smiles despite himself. “I can see why you drove Crouch up the wall. Ms. Rosier, I assure you we gave Sirius Black more than enough chances to explain himself. He refused to say anything.”

“Did you give him Veritaserum?” she asks, raising her chin in defiance. Moody thinks she’s one second away from stomping her foot on the floor and throwing a tantrum. A spoiled girl who’s not used to not getting what she wants. A girl who thinks who can solve problems with her family’s connections and money.

Moody is not impressed.

“Why would we when he confessed already? You see, we’re busy hunting Death Eaters, Ms. Rosier and we don’t have endless supply of the potion.”

“I could give you from our stash,” she blurts out, flushing when Moody sits back and folds his arms across his chest.

“Are you confessing to be in possession of an illegal potion?”

Her mouth tightens, closing her eyes for a moments like she wants to rewind but she only shrugs, instead of spewing out denials and excuses. “I thought you were busy chasing Death Eaters.”

“We are but I can still fill a form in less than a minute for a future investigation.”

She throws her head back in a sharp laugh. “Please do.”

“You’re not leaving a good impression here,” Moody warns her, knowing he would be up on his feet ordering the junior Aurors to put her on 24 hour arrest if he didn’t think he could get valuable information out of her.

“I’m not here for a job interview,” she snaps, her eyes disappearing into her skull, “I’m here for justice. I don’t need to be charming.”

“Thank Merlin you don’t need the money, right?” he says and stands up. He only plans on getting himself a cup of coffee but from the desperate expression on her face, he realises she thought he was leaving. She springs to her feet, her eyes filling with tears in a matter of seconds.

“I know you fought with him,” she says, clutching his arm, “do these accusations align with what you know of him? Do you honestly believe there is a chance he’d betray James?”

Moody’s expression doesn’t waver. “It doesn’t. But people are not always what they are seem to be.”

She shakes her head vehemently, her eyes wide. Moody cuts her off before she can intervene, “When was the last time you’ve seen him?”

She sighs, falling back on her chair with a flourish like she wasn’t hanging off his arm begging seconds before. “About eight months ago.”

Moody nods. “People change,” he says, his voice softer than he could imagine himself capable of.

The tears in her eyes start falling and she keeps shaking her head, “Not him, you don’t know him like I do.”

“Let’s say what you’re saying is true, Rosier,” he interrupts, “Let’s say he didn’t give out Potters. That does not require an Azkaban sentence. Let’s go even further and say he’s not a Death Eater. He still killed thirteen people. We have eyewitness and a confession out of his mouth in the presence of dozen Aurors. Now that’s,“ he points a finger at her face, “That’s a life sentence in Azkaban.”

She mumbles something that’s incorrigible to the Auror.

“Do you think it’s impossible that he’d kill thirteen people?”

She stares at him, rendered speechless for a moment. “No, I don’t think it’s impossible.”

“We have priorities,” he speaks softly, “he hasn’t got his trial yet. This is a temporary arrest until we have some kind of stability and catch as many Death Eaters as possible.”

The words seem to placate the girl, and she takes a deep breath, nodding to herself.

“Now, sit here quietly as I get myself a cup of coffee.”

“I take mine with milk,” she says, running a hand through her hair, her eyes already closed like she plans on sleeping until he comes back.

Moody gives out a silent prayer for strength to survive this day.

***

The rest of the interrogation is fruitless as before. It starts to go downhill when she comments about the quality of the coffee and starts babbling about how much better it is in France. It turns into a mostly one sided conversation where she talks about how they deal with dark wizards there and he genuinely considers leaving when she offers to give a card of an investigator at French Ministry of Magic for professional advice. She talks about her grandmother’s opinions on their “incompetence” and how worried she is about sending her younger brother to Hogwarts, never once mentioning her older brother or her father.

“Ms. Rosier, I think you want this trial because you don’t want to believe that you were fooled for so long.”

“Of course I want this for him! I don’t need proof that he’s innocent, I know it!” she exclaims, not offended in the slightest and continues her monologue.

She starts to namedrop.

She begins with Regulus Black, who they all know to be dead but she talks about his friends. She talks about the girl he dated. She moves on to Bellatrix Lestrange’s wedding, then she starts comparing it to Narcissa Malfoy’s wedding.

“They’re all my cousins, you know,” she says, her solemn eyes at a complete contrast with her airy tone.

She leans into him and whispers, “Did you know Bella had a fling with Antonin Dolohov before she was married? My grandma told me Aunt Druella married her off so quickly because they were scared she’d get pregnant by a foreigner, and one with questionable heritage, no less!” She shakes her head in disbelief like this is the most interesting thing she’s ever heard.

Moody listens to her give out countless names under the guise of gossip but she never mentions her brother.

“Can I visit him?” she asks meekly, after a full minute of silence, trying to figure out if she forgot some, “To talk to him and try to understand how this mess happened.”

“You’re not family, not in the list of his kin. That is not allowed, especially at this time.”

She groans, puckering her lips in thought. “He wouldn’t talk to his family purely out of spite, they disowned him years ago. Even I have a better chance.”

“You’ll be able to go up and talk if you had anyone who listed you as their kin,” he says, watching her face carefully, keeping his tone even, “I’d accompany you, of course.”

Her eyes go misty, her face suddenly blank as paper. Looking at her neutral face upon making his offer, he wonders if she only showed what she wanted them to see.

“Give me something better and he’ll have a trial, you mean,” she says, her voice chilly. She turns her nose up, sniffing haughtily before a bitter smile crosses her face.

“He’ll have a trial no matter what.”

“That’s not what I hear here,” she says with a lifeless smile, and gets up from his seat. “It was a pleasure to have a chat with you Auror Moody. I’ll be in England if you need me for _my trial_ ,” she drawls. She pats down on her trousers and puts on her coat.

Moody wonders if he made a great mistake as she walks away with her chin tilted upwards, showing him her nostrils.

She stops with her hand on the doorknob, and speaks so quietly that Moody barely hears her.

“He once said to me, ‘I want to be Alastor Moody when I grow up.’” she pauses, her head bowed. “It was a running joke between us.”

She turns her gaze back at him, her eyes not betraying any emotions, despite the wetness around her eyes from before, “He admired you,” she whispers before scoffing. “You never kill, right? How honourable.”

She holds his gaze, “I hope he never becomes like you.”

***

Lydia Rosier comes back two weeks later, after both Walburga Black and Arcturus Black try to find a way out for Sirius Black in their own ways and fail. Moody thinks he should be celebrating his victory inside but her parting words echo in his mind. She waits in front of his office with Barty Crouch Jr, and he gives a terse nod to the boy and hauls the girl inside.

“I demand an Unbreakable Vow,” she says before he can get a word in.

His eyes narrow, “I won’t and can’t grant you immunity.”

She shakes her head. “That’s not what I want.”

“What, then?” he steps around his table to sit down.

“This will stay between the two of us,” she declares, rapping her nails on the desk. “You will take all the credit. You won’t mention my name to anyone.”

Moody is taken aback but he hides it, scrutinising the girl. “I assume you also want a trial for Sirius Black.”

“Obviously,” she says crisply. “You need to promise me he’ll be offered Veritaserum at his trial. If they don’t hold trial, you’ll push for it.”

“I haven’t accepted yet,” he reminds her, “What are you going to give me?”

“I’ll give you my blood and my permission to enter one of Rosier states, where two Death Eaters are hiding.” Her breath gets stuck in her throat and she swallows before she continues, “This is the only way in.”

 _The only way in_. That almost confirms that Evan Rosier is one of them but he can’t be sure. He doesn’t think Evan Rosier would give his blood to other Death Eaters to hide in his house but he’d give it to Voldemort, or maybe even Bellatrix Lestrange, since they’re cousins. Moody knows about the complex protections in and around pureblood houses, from his own childhood and from the people he caught over the years. There had been an on-going case about the blood magic regarding Rosiers, but it had been hushed shortly before Rosier Sr passed away.

Whatever she says here, there will be an out for her brother and whoever is with him.

“Which Death Eaters?”

“I don’t know,” she answers without pausing. She doesn’t seem to be lying but he doesn’t trust her in the slightest. He’s seen what Lydia Rosier’s kind of people can do to get out of a trouble, these spoiled, privileged heirs, even when they think they’re morally better than the rest of their families.

“Will you be able to swear on these for the vow?”

She nods but the colour leaves her face. “Barty can perform the spell,” she mumbles. “He’ll join the vow to prove his silence.”

“Call him in.”

Crouch Jr looks more uncomfortable than Rosier but the boy always looks like he’s about to take off in a different direction, so he doesn’t spend too much time thinking about it.

Rosier unbuttons the sleeve of her shirt, revealing her left arm. His mouth twitches at her obvious show of unmarked skin but he copies her moves as he walks to stand in front of her.

They grip each other’s elbows tightly, and Moody holds back a grunt when her nails digs into his aching joints. He can’t tell if she’s doing it on purpose or if she’s only nervous but he doesn’t mention it.

Crouch Jr looks pale and flighty but recites what he’s memorised with precise pronunciation.

“You, Lydia Rosier, do you vow to give out your blood and your permission to Alastor Moody to enter Rosier residence in Marseille where two Death Eaters are hiding in exchange that Sirius Black will be offered Veritaserum whether or not he gets a trial?”

“Yes.”

Moody speaks up. “Do you vow you haven’t warned anyone of this in advance or won’t after this in any way or form, and you won’t use anyone else or anything else for communication?”

“Yes,” she whispers, her voice breaking. Her eyes fill to the brim with unshed tears but she chases them away, blinking fast.

“I vow never to tell about this to anyone,” he says. “Do you vow you haven’t laid a trap for me there?”

“Yes,” she says, her grip turning agonising. She starts to tremble visibly. “Do you vow you’ll do your best to catch them without killing them?”

Moody smiles without humour, remembering her last words to him. “Yes.”

“If there isn’t anything else…” Crouch looks between them before he clasps their wrists with a skinny hand and says, “I vow to never say a word about what happened here to anyone.”

He binds them together with more ease and grace he’d expect from a twenty year old kid but Rosier doesn’t seem surprised by his competence.

Rosier drops her hand, her shoulders dropping in defeat. She stares at the corner with a slightly unsettling expression on her face, like she’s on the edge of a nervous breakdown. Crouch reaches inside of his cloak and gives him a vial of dark red blood and a letter.

He grabs her forearm and drags her out with a nod to Moody as soon as he drops them in his palm.

Moody calls his twelve best Aurors to raid the Rosier residence.

****

He loses three of his men and a part of his nose.

It progresses as he expected. The house is on the smaller side but they set off traps with their every step. Dolohov shoots a purple curse at one of the younger Aurors and she dies before they can reach to her. Dolohov manages to hold off four Aurors because they get stuck in a strange plant he’s never seen before but he trips over the Auror he killed and Moody binds him before he takes off after Rosier.

Evan Rosier knows the house like the back of his hand and they play hide and seek that stretches out for too long, but they lose him every time he thinks they’ve got him. He orders his Aurors to blast each door in case they’re portals to other rooms and it turns out to be.

Evan Rosier freezes the blood of one of his Aurors in his veins when she almost catches him running through a door, slipping between their fingers. When they undo the spell after they catch Rosier, her body rots instantly and they don’t even have a corpse to bring back. He cuts the head off the other one with a single spell, one second after he blasts the last door and when they get to him, they only find his skeleton and a bit of tissue, drowned it constantly growing insects and one of the Aurors almost gets his hand chopped off by them.

He barely manages to evade the curses Rosier shoots towards them, the portraits and statues aiding him to run away. His Aurors fall one by one, without managing to land a single spell on him.

He blasts the last door standing, and Rosier cuts him right in the middle of his face as he tries to find his balance after the explosion.

His stomach lurches with the taste of copper, but he keeps his wand still and pointed at Rosier.

“I should’ve known not to trust Lydia,” Evan Rosier says, his mouth stretching into a smile that shows all of his teeth.

Moody couldn’t say anything even if he wanted to.

That causes a slightly manic laughter. “Did she make you swear on an unbreakable vow too? Yeah, yeah. She likes that.” His breath gets laboured and his eyes, almost yellow as the sunset falls on him, widens. “Does she think Veritaserum will help her boyfriend?” He giggles, his wrist twisting in a familiar move and Moody blocks the spell without difficulty but Rosier sends another just as a statue knocks into him from behind, giving him few seconds to escape.

He sends two stunners, then one Avada Kedavra at his back. The last one finds the mark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After a few horrible days I've finally had a good day and decided to reward myself with writing. This internship is draining all my energy but it's good for *enter Kylie Jenner* like, realising stuff. I've decided to pursue another branch that will allow me more free time with less night/weekend shifts and something that is more to my interests. I will need to study a lot more and there's a chance of failure but I need to try.   
> Anyway, enough of me rambling about my existential crisis. Hope you liked the chapter!


	16. Chapter 16

Lydia wakes up aching all over around noon. She spends a few minutes patting Padfoot’s head but he isn’t lying on top of her that morning, so she leaves the bed without having to wait for him to wake up.

She grabs the towels from where she’s placed them more than a week ago and some clothes from _her side_ to change into, heading into the shower. She sniffs the sweatshirt, flinching back at the smell of dust and humidity, embarrassed to think Sirius had to smell this all night. She puts her dirty clothes in the laundry basket and they disappear at the same second, probably ending up in front of Kreacher.

When she comes out, trying to dry her hair with the towel, she finds Padfoot resting his head on his paws, waiting for her to come out with huge eyes, tongue sticking out like he’s grinning.

“That’s creepy,” she says, throwing the towel at his head.

He dugs his nose into the towel and starts to sniff it, his tail wagging.

“What-“ she splutters and lunges for the towel, “stop that, you’re going to get snot all over it.”

He barks, licking the towel.

“Fucking hell,” she mumbles and releases it. “You can have it. I won’t use it again.”

She sits across the vanity and tries to find what she needs in that clutter. She did not have time to organise these, having fallen asleep in the library last night. She wonders if Sirius carried her to bed or if he levitatated her, and tries to decide how she feels about the former.

She uncaps her moisturiser and carefully squeezes on her index finger. She dabs her left cheek first and follows clockwise, her eyes meeting Sirius’ in the mirror.

“What?” she says, massaging the cream into her skin. “You are free to use anything here,” she offers airily when his eyes dart around the table, his forehead creased in thought. Pressing her lips into each other to keep from smiling, she swings her hair back from her face.

“Is that a barb at the condition of my skin?” Sirius asks, hopping on the floor to go into bathroom.

“If you want to take it that way,” she calls after him, laughing when he shuts the door behind him with a crack.

She goes through her usual routine, and she looks mostly like herself again when he emerges. He sits down next to her in the small chair, his breath smelling of mint. His knee digs into her thigh, like it always did back then and he rests his elbow on the desk to watch her.

She pretends not to take care of it but she feels awkward as she applies her lipstick under his unblinking gaze. She conjures a tissue to press it between her lips to get rid off excess makeup and throws it at his face.

“Are you going to keep watching me?” she demands as she reaches for her mascara.

He folds the tissue and puts it inside his pocket. Lydia’s face suddenly feels hot and she tries to focus on putting on the mascara but her fingers keep trembling and she gets it all over her eyelid.

Her mouth tightens, and she takes deep, long breaths to slow down the pace of her heart. She swipes the smudge under her eye with her thumb and puts it down, knowing she’ll only embarrass herself further if she tries again.

“I forgot how beautiful you are,” he says. Not like he’s trying to compliment her. Not like he’s flirting. But like he’s confessing.

She twists her body to face him, and places her hand on his knee. His thigh flexes under her palm but relaxes just as it came.

“The important thing is you remember it now,” she says, and wants to smack herself for trying to joke when he’s clearly trying to tell her something.

“I forget everything,” he says, not taking note of her tactless comment, to her relief. His fingers close on her hand and she flips her hand to entwine their fingers.

“Ask me, then,” she murmurs, squeezing his hand.

His mouth twitches but he doesn’t look happy in the slightest. “Will you be here when I have questions?”

Lydia feels like he’s punched her right in the middle of her sternum and she can’t will herself to take a breath. Her face remains frozen, as does her brain. She’s only aware of the warm fingers around her hand and the heaviness of the question but she doesn’t know what the question is or if she has an answer for it.

But Sirius waits until she gets her surroundings back, patient and silent. He doesn’t look angry or bitter. He only looks like he needs to hear an answer.

“I’m here now,” she whispers, but it only causes Sirius to try to snatch his hand back. She doesn’t allow him, and makes a decision at that point, when her fingers tighten in reflex and when she doesn’t want to take it back.

She’s chosen safety once, chosen to run away from war when things got too rough. And she ended up losing so many people dear to her, even though she was hiding miles away from Britain, in one of the most secure houses in France.

She is being given a second chance.

“I’ll be here until we can leave this place together.”

His lips part a fraction and he stays motionless for a while. He shakes it off with a loud inhale and rubs his eyes vigorously, his mouth moving soundlessly as she tries to understand what he’s saying. In the end, he curses out loud and abruptly grabs her by the shoulder with his free hand and buries his face into her hair, his warm breath tickling her neck.

She brings her left hand to grasp a handful of his flimsy t-shirt, embracing him in a slightly awkward hug but her eyes snap open when she smells her own shampoo in his hair.

“Did you use my shampoo?” she whispers.

Sirius angles his head until his lips reach the corner of her jaw. She thinks she feels his teeth nipping at her flesh gently but she can’t be sure. “Don’t ruin the moment. I’ll buy you the whole store if you want.”

“I own the store,” she deadpans and he sits up straight in surprise, his hand dropping from her shoulder and going to grasp at his neck .

“Since when?”

She throws her head back in a loud laugh, shrieking when he pokes her in her side.

“It’s not my fault you’re gullible,” she says between giggles, stepping out of his reach. “Okay, stop, I’m hungry,” she tries to amend, “Don’t you want me to eat? I’ve lost so much weight in the last weeks.”

Sirius rolls his neck side to side, his face screwed up in concentration as he pretends to think about it. “Well played. Go. I’ll change and head down.”

***

When she steps into the kitchen, she gasps and slaps her hand to her forehead.

“I tried to wake you up but Padfoot snarled at me,” Remus says with a bashful smile, blowing on his cup. He gestures towards the table, clearly Kreacher’s work, and watches her as she timidly fills her plate, still horrified she forgot about their plan to go to the university.

“I apologise,” she says, refusing to look away from his eyes. “I should’ve gone to sleep earlier but we got carried away organising the library.”

“It’s alright,” he shrugs, “I don’t really have anywhere I need to be.”

She’s confused for a moment before she lets out a sound of understanding. “I see. Well, I’m sorry either way.”

“I think we should be able to head there after the lunch break,” he says, glancing at his watch.

Sirius’ footsteps echo behind them and they strain to hear what Mrs. Black says when he passes by, but she’s uncharacteristically quiet, as is Sirius.

“She’s in good spirits these days,” he whispers.

She snorts, spreading butter over her bread. “She loves me. Yesterday, she asked me about the wedding date. She insisted we have the ceremony right in front of her here or take the wall down to take her to ceremony.”

“Oh, I remember you two always joking about that,” he muses, “she wanted to have your wedding on your seventeenth birthday, didn’t she?”

“She’s angry we missed your thirty fourth birthday,” he says, looking unbothered. “It’s me she nags, not Lydia.”

“Yes, you look distressed,” Remus comments drily.

“Pass me the tea, dear,” he says, ignoring Remus. Lydia’s lips twitch but she suppresses it, and fills an empty cup.

“Here you go, darling,” she says, handing the cup.

Sirius takes a tentative sip and hums, “You always know my tastes.”

“I’m to your-“ she starts but Remus cuts in with his hand up in the air.

“Are you ready to leave? We should arrive before the class starts.”

“Right,” she says, patting her mouth with a napkin. She addresses Sirius, “Do you need anything?”

“Only you back here before sunset,” he winks and Remus slams his palms on the table amidst her laughter.

“Let’s go,” he almost shouts to be heard. She swats at Sirius’ shoulder, who gives his friend an innocent look.

Lydia follows Remus out, exchanging cheerful goodbyes with Mrs. Black on her way.

***

It is painfully uncomfortable between them as they wait for the head of department to finish her class.

She never had much in common with Remus and they hadn’t spent a lot of time together either. While they were in Hogwarts, she only saw him when she joined Sirius and after that, it became even more scarce.

How they parted in Potters’ funeral also hangs in the air.

_Lydia spots Lupin in her periphery, watching her and she pats Barty’s coat pockets for a cigarette. Barty shoves her hands away and hands her one, lighting it with his wand._

_She removes her sunglasses from her hair and puts it on, to have a barrier between them if Lupin decides to try his chances to talk to her._

_“I’m going to tear him to pieces if he comes near me,” she announces. Barty sighs, leaning forward to hide his face in his palms. He looks just as bad as Lydia does, jittery and on edge at every given moment, and it makes Lydia feel like an arsehole to put him through this but she’d so grateful, so dependant on Barty since she came back to England that she can’t let him go._

_“It’s not going to get Sirius out of Azkaban, Lydia. Keep your calm.”_

_“He said he suspected Sirius,” she hisses, her fond thoughts about her best friend disappearing into thin air and Barty pinches her arm, his eyes darting around._

_“Well, he did, didn’t he? And no one would give a shit if he spoke for Sirius’ benefit, would they? If you really want to take a swing at someone, try Dumbledore.”_

_Lupin starts his walk towards them and Lydia resists the urge to get up and leave, sucking on her cigarette for a long time until she feels like her lungs are going to burst. He pauses a few meters away from them and Lydia holds her breath, wishing him to go away, but Barty gives him a nod next to her, encouraging him to come near._

_She sends a scathing glare to Barty and stubs the cigarette on the floor, not bothering to vanish it and stretches out her hand for another one. Barty sighs loudly next to her but places it between her lips._

_“I don’t think I’m the right person to be in control of her smoking habits,” he addresses Lupin, taking one for himself. He doesn’t offer him._

_Sirius was even more hopeless than Barty, when he was in charge of her cigarettes._

_Lydia tilts her head back, exhaling a cloud of smoke and stares at Lupin behind that. He looks old and miserable, and she thinks, good._

_“Lydia,” he starts, sitting down next to her with a leap of courage._

_Lydia bites back the reflexive responses and acknowledges him with a nod._

_“I wanted to talk to you,” he says, and like always his voice is mild and unassuming, like he’s trying not to set her off. It pisses her off._

_“I don’t think your friends’ funeral is the right place for a chat,” she replies._

_“Neither do I. But I couldn’t find you before and I don’t think I will after this if I don’t talk to you now.”_

_“And there’s a reason for that, Lupin. Take a fucking hint.”_

_He ignores her tone, the bloody Gryffindor. “I know you’re trying to get Sirius out but-”_

_“It’s not a secret,” she grits out, “No one will give you a medal or an investigative job for this discovery.”_

_He recoils a little at the mention of his fruitless attempts at job hunting but he overlooks that too. “Lydia,” he mumbles, “he was the secret keeper. I know you’re hurting and trust me, there’s no one in the world who understands you better.”_

_Her mouth turns into a sneer and she leans in, “He would sell you, me, Regulus and everyone else in this world out before he betrayed James, and you fucking know it.”_

_Lupin’s jaw clenches but he doesn’t take a step back, awing her with his lack of self preservation. “If this is how you try to acquit him, I’m not surprised it’s not working.”_

_Lydia feels like she’s been slapped but she doesn’t react outside. Her mouth stretches into a pleasant smile and she ignores Barty’s warning grip on her wrist._

_“Is this a retaliation for Snape?” she asks, words tumbling out of her mouth like acid. Lupin’s face is pure confusion at first, then he flushes bright red. He splutters, “How do you know about that? This is absurd, how can you-”_

_Lydia cuts him off with a careless wave around his face and springs to her feet, jerking her head for Barty to follow her._

_Barty gets up without being told twice, his hand tugging at her to put some distance between them. She yanks her arm back and stares down at Lupin, who still looks indignant and upset._

_“I hope it kills you,” she says, her face carefully neutral, “I hope it eats you alive when the truth comes out. I hope you’ll never have a peaceful sleep again, knowing you sent an innocent man to Azkaban.”_

Lydia tries to act casual but sometimes she finds it impossible to look into Remus’ eyes. She can bet that he never mentioned this to Dora or she would’ve heard about it already. She feels sleazy because she’s more worried about Dora’s reaction to her words than Remus’ feelings.

Remus is, compared to her, comfortable, among people who shun him out. He looks around in genuine curiosity, since it’s probably his first time in the university building while Lydia stares daggers at anyone and everyone to avoid any non vital interaction with Remus.

“What have you done over the years?” Remus breaks the silence.

Lydia turns to him in slow motion. She thought they had an agreement not to talk to avoid unpleasantries.

“I was here and there,” she says, her unease about the topic causing a flicker of anxiety in her chest but she pays it no mind. “I stayed in France for some time, with my grandmother. We had to deal with the states after Evan died. Well, grandma had been in charge in reality since Father died, and Evan didn’t really do anything after he graduated anyway.”

This causes Remus to smile and she gathers courage from that.

“I didn’t do anything either. I signed some things. Finished my degree there after a few years. We came back two years before Felix graduated, thinking he’d stay in England but he left for Romania,” she rolls her eyes.

“Molly mentioned. He worked with Charlie, right?”

“Yeah, he is mates with Bill too. They have a monthly meet up in London,” she says. She grins. “The only time he gets drunk. He crashes at my place afterwards.”

He laughs, an uninhibited sound, and Lydia wonders if there’s a chance he’s not holding grudges.

His laugh dies off, and he regards her with a thoughtful frown. “I’m happy for you.”

Lydia’s eyebrows go up, and she waits for him to elaborate.

Remus looks like he regrets his words but he doesn’t give some unbelievable excuse for his words. “Your grandmother asked me to visit you while you were in hospital.”

Lydia sighs, shifting her gaze. “I don’t remember it,” she confesses. “I don’t remember much from that time.”

“I gathered,” Remus says. “She told me it was a side effect of your Occlumency.”

She blows a breath, examining her boots. They desperately need a clean.

“It was much more serious than a side effect. I lost control,” she explains. “I think Barty uses it now. I don’t think he has more control over it more than I did. He’ll snap soon. Azkaban, then Imperius,” she mumbles to herself, then clicks her tongue, “he doesn’t stand a chance.”

He nods, “I thought that was possible. Well, good news for us.”

She thinks it’s a rather cruel thing to say but she doesn’t object. She is aware of his gaze on her face but she doesn’t give in to the urge to ask what he is thinking.

“You’re worried about him,” he says, a hint of awe in his voice.

She counts to ten first, telling herself to just let it go but in the end she gives a short laugh, glaring at him in indignation. “Of course I am. He’s more than a passer-by in my life. He is my best friend.”

“Is he still?” he asks, steel evident in his resolve.

“Yes he is,” she holds her ground, “he’s more than a guy who I hanged out with. I grew up with him. He’s a huge part of who I am. During all of my most vulnerable years, I always knew I could count on him to be by my side. He is not Peter, Remus,” she says with a finality, “he has chosen this for himself but he’s never harmed me. Don’t expect me to put him into same category. Don’t expect me to be happy that he’s about to lose his mind.”

Remus’ face is unreadable throughout her speech and he looks away in distance. “If you say so. I suggest you don’t tell these when the others are around.”

“I’m not afraid to say what I believe in, Remus,” she says coldly, willing her breath to stay calm.

“You must not believe in the fight against Voldemort, then,” he stretches his legs out, “because we all know you only spilled the names for Sirius. Now how can we trust you not to do the same with Crouch?”

“You should’ve thought about it sooner,” she says, “it’s a little too late, isn’t it?”

“Maybe not.”

“You sound like you’re threatening me.”

“I’m warning you not to do something to jeopardise us for Crouch, that’s all.”

She feels her blood turn icy in her veins. And her fingers freeze, unable to move to strange him. “Where is this coming from?”

“You once told me,” he begins, with a sad curl to his lips, “that Sirius would sell all of us out for James. I’m only wondering if you’d do the same for Crouch.”

“That’s a good question,” she breaths out mockingly, “good catch. But you’ll have to wait to learn the answer to that like everyone else.”

They stay in absolute silence after that.

***

“She resigned,” Remus tells Sirius the second they see him. Sirius frowns and looks at Lydia in question.

“You did?”

“Yes. She got on my nerves.”

“She got on your nerves,” he repeats, dumbfounded, turning to Remus for confirmation. Remus gives a sharp gesture, taunting Lydia to draw her wand on him. She refrains only because she knows she’ll lose.

“You see, my nerves were already stretched thin at that point,” she says instead, with a saccharine smile aimed at Remus.

Sirius’ hand goes to his mouth and he watches them glare at each other with half worry, half amusement.

“She’s all yours now, since she doesn’t have a job anymore. You don’t need to pretend you’re surprised or that you don’t approve,” Remus says in mocking voice, dripping with innuendo and sarcasm. “I’m sure you two will come up with a nice excuse for this other than what it is. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need some reports to write for Moody.”

“You can’t go anywhere,” she yells after him, “I can’t talk shit about you behind your back. I'm not done!”

Remus keeps marching upstairs, “Not everyone will stand at attention at your mere words, Lydia. Get used to it.”

“Oh my god,” she says, “He grew a backbone since I last saw him.” Then her eyes fall on Sirius and she mentally chastises herself. “You can ask him what we argued about. I’m sure you’d pick his side anyway.”

“Okay,” Sirius says, refusing to comment either way and choosing to divert her attention. “Are you hungry?”

“Yes, but I want something greasy,” she toes of her boots and throws herself on the sofa, still buzzing with irritation. “Maybe those gross Muggle pizzas. And some beer, then tiramisu.”

“Okay,” he says, sounding like he’s asking a question, then he confesses in a rush, “I don’t know how to order. Or what. Or from where.”

Lydia holds back a sigh and beckons him with a finger. “Forget about it. It’s better if I don’t eat those anyway. I’m sure Kreacher has already prepared something.”

“He’s still cooking,” he confirms, relief obvious on his face. Lydia wonders if she’s really that high maintenance. He walks up to her and lifts her feet to sit, placing them on his lap. His fingers curl around her ankles, his thumb caressing the small sliver of naked skin there, making her shudder at the gentle touch.

“You don’t have to say yes to everything I ask, you know that, right?” she asks in a low voice.

Sirius, visibly startled, looks away in discomfort for a moment, betraying his real thoughts. “I know that.”

Lydia sighs and gives him a smile. “Sirius, I won’t leave if you refuse to order me food when there’s already some in the house or if you refuse to do something with me.”

Sirius sucks her bottom lips into his mouth and watches her in silence. “I know that,” he repeats, with more confidence.

Lydia puckers her lips but doesn’t push it. She’ll just have to be more careful about her attitude and words.

“I want you to be happy here,” Sirius whispers, and Lydia almost misses it.

“Unlike you.”

Sirius lets out a surprised bark of laughter but doesn’t deny it.

“How can I be happy if you’re not?” she asks, incredulous.

“Well, same goes for me. You’re here when you don’t have to be and I want you to at least enjoy yourself.”

Lydia sighs, letting go of the argument but deciding to be less demanding, at least tomorrow and on the days Harry comes. Sirius reaches forward and grabs the cigarette pack, putting one between his lips. Lydia feels a pang of longing for it but averts her eyes, ignoring the smell.

“Lydia?” Sirius says, obvious from his pronunciation that he’s holding it between his teeth. She opens her eyes a fraction, almost accepting it when he waves the pact in front of her face.

“No, thank you, I quitted,” she forces out and closes her eyes, wringing her hands together to resist the urge to take just one.

Sirius leans forward again, her feet pinned between his thighs and his stomach and she wriggles her toes to tickle him.

“Well, technically I quitted too,” Sirius says after a while. She snorts in surprise, her hand flying to her mouth like she can block it from escaping. Too late.

She doesn’t see it around anymore and she raises an eyebrow in question.

“I’m not going to smoke if you quitted,” he says simply.

Lydia suddenly feels overwhelmed with the waves of gratitude and affection she feels for this man and she shuts her eyes tight so he doesn’t notice the tears filling her eyes.

“For Merlin’s sake, Lydia,” comes from an exasperated Sirius, “what made you cry now?”

She kicks him in the stomach, smiling in satisfaction when he grunts. “I do not owe you an explanation,” she says as a drop finds its’ way down to her neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look who's surprisingly fast!   
> (It's my last 6 working days in this department. After this I don't ever want to enter a surgery room ever again and I will stop complaining at the end of every chapter. I just need to vent now, though. I'm about to explode otherwise.)


	17. Chapter 17

Despite Harry’s best attempts to ignore Snape, the man doesn’t cease his snarky comments as they wait for Sirius and Lydia to come greet them. He doesn’t understand why they are late, or why _Sirius_ is late to be exact, when he made it clear he doesn’t want to spend one extra second in this man’s presence.

It starts with the condition of his hair, which Harry thinks as ironic but he’s probably too loud in his own head, because Snape’s eyes narrow at him and he continues sneering about his talents as a potioner, to his lack of ethics when it comes to having his own way using his celebrity status.

Harry sometimes can’t decide if he hates Snape or Voldemort more. It’s a tight race.

After five minutes, they hear hurried, loud steps, sounding clearer with each step. Soon, they enter the room, hair dishevelled, sweaty and faces smudged.

“Harry,” Sirius pants and Harry finds him oddly charming with his uncharacteristic fussiness. “We thought you were coming an hour later.”

“Yes, we were told you were coming at eight,” Lydia says, a lot less ruffled than Sirius, regarding Snape with aloofness that would bother him if it was on someone like Malfoy or Parkinson. “I thought that was rather late but didn’t question it when it was clearly stated in the letter. Have you forgotten the time you set, by any chance?”

But it’s the opposite for Snape and her attitude makes his eyes twitch in the corner. “I had to bring him early.” He doesn’t offer an explanation.

“Well, I have to go shower,” Lydia announces, tying her hair at the top. She suddenly looks five years younger than she did a second ago. “I don’t want to stink to my student.”

The message is unmistakable and Harry sees Sirius’ lips twitch.

“Might as well spoil yourself one last time in this house.” Words spill out of Snape’s mouth so smooth that Harry is half sure he prepared it beforehand.

“Is that so?” she sounds utterly bored and settles on top of a chair instead of going upstairs like she said she would, picking a loose strand on her knee and levitating it to the rubbish as everyone watches her. She lifts her head and looks at Snape with half lidded eyes. She seems to be really exhausted and Harry thinks with a hint of alarm that she doesn’t look to be in a good state to help him out today. “I’m sure you’re dying to tell what you’re going to tell, so please, don’t suffer further.”

Snape, still looking his most cheerful other than the time he thought he caught Sirius two years ago, reaches inside his robes and holds out a letter in the air. Lydia’s face suddenly looks more colourful, her strange eyes glinting and her glance shifts almost imperceptibly to Sirius.

“Oh,” she says, her voice pleasant, “you brought that back.”

Snape doesn’t point out the shift in her demeanour and walks to her, letter still in the air, as if he’s taunting her, willing her to leap at him to take it from his grasp.

She keeps still, her eyes dulling as she maintains a painful looking smile.

“Did you find anything?”

“Not a single curse or even a charm on it,” Snape replies just as civil and hands the letter to Sirius, much to Harry’s surprise, since it’s clearly addressed to Lydia.

“It looks like your girlfriend is leaving again,” Snape drawls, blinking like he’s almost drowsing.

Lydia’s face unfreezes, dropping the smile and she rolls her eyes while Sirius turns ashen behind her. She snatches the letter out of Sirius’ lifeless hands, glaring at Snape as she turns the unopened envelope in her hands.

“Did you read it?”

“I had to, since the words themselves could be the curse,” Snape eyes Sirius with glee, “It was truly heart warming. It’s obvious he terribly misses you.”

“Of course he does, I miss him too,” Lydia dismisses, and it dawns on Harry who wrote the letter. He turns to Sirius in worry, feeling nauseous at the sight of his sunken eyes. Lydia still hasn’t opened the letter and she doesn’t seem like she has any intention to do so.

“I assume you have an obligation in the evening,” Lydia prompts, tilting her head to the side. “We’ll be done by eleven, if you can come get him at that time.”

Snape nods curtly, still looking pleased with himself even though he’s been basically kicked out. Harry wonders what’s in that letter that would amuse Snape to this extent.

“I appreciate you checking this,” Lydia holds the letter up, her mouth curving into a smile. “I owe you one.”

Snape’s expression sours like he’d rather have her attacking her and leaves without acknowledging her words.

Lydia fumbles with the envelope the second she makes sure Snape’s gone. Her eyes fly over the words, too fast and Harry thinks she can’t possibly understand what she’s reading.

Sirius, behind her, purposefully doesn’t look at the letter. He doesn’t know if it’s out of respect or if he doesn’t want to react to what’s there in front of Harry but Harry’s leaning on the latter.

Lydia starts rereading the letter, slower and her breathing gets shallow and hitched. Sirius picks up on the change too, and settles down beside her. “What does it say?” he asks, putting a hand on her shoulder. Lydia rests her cheek on his hand and Harry feels a pang of jealousy seeing the easy way they interact. His interactions with Sirius are always laced with the shadows of the past, and the danger looming over them and while Sirius having someone makes it easier to sleep at night, it also scares him to think Sirius will have less time for him, when this is over and they all come out alive.

“He says hi to you,” she says, pinching the bridge of her nose. She hands him the letter and Sirius reads it with a straight face. When he’s done, he places it on the table and regards her with solemn eyes.

“What are you going to do?”

She shrugs, hopping down from the stool. “I’m not going to try to find Dolohov and kill him. I don’t plan on looking for trouble.”

“Yes, he’s more likely to kill you,” Sirius mumbles, looking like he’s forcing the words out.

“I’ve never been a good dueller,” she tells Harry. “That was my brother, Evan.” She pauses and jabs her thumb towards the hallway. “I’ll shower real quick.”

Sirius beckons him to the same room they used on Saturday.

“Why did Crouch send her a letter?” he asks as soon as he closes the door behind him.

Sirius’ mouth tightens. “He went to Lydia’s house after he escaped, it seems.”

Harry doesn’t understand why she hasn’t upgraded her security in the last fifteen years but doesn’t say anything about it. “What does he say?”

Sirius ponders over what to say, clearly not wanting to reveal too much. It annoys him a little because Sirius always argued that they should tell Harry things, since they usually effect him one way or another.

“He tells her to leave the country. Probably the safest option for her.”

“What is it about Dolohov?” he asks and Sirius instantly fidgets.

“She has helped the Aurors catch him, back then,” he says but it’s clear as day to Harry that this is not the whole story but Sirius isn’t inclined to share more and Harry, disappointed with Sirius’ unwillingness, leans back and broods in silence.

She actually comes back in less than fifteen minutes, with a big cup in her hand and Sirius leaves them alone muttering about something he doesn’t catch. She puts a box in front of him unceremoniously and drops herself on the chair across him. He sends a glance at her before he picks it up, opening the lid. There are a few photos inside and a few letter and he recognises the people in the photo as soon as his eyes land on it.

His father, mother and Remus sitting on a sofa, with Sirius trying to keep a Muggle Christmas hat still on his head in the background. His mother is radiant, her hand curled around his father’s arm and she lifts her head from his shoulder to laugh at something Pettrigrew says.

“You were sleeping in the next room,” Lydia’s voice breaks the silence. She smiles at him, but it looks cold as she traces the plant on her cup with her fingers.

“Thank you,” he says, croaked, quickly looking through the photos. “I have some photos of them but I’ve never seen these.”

“Yes, Hagrid asked me years ago to give some for you but I found these later.”

“I appreciate it,” he whispers.

“No big deal. Let’s start, eh? Sirius talked my ear off all day about you. I swear he’s not going to give me peace if I don’t give you two some alone time.”

Her words warm him just as much as the photos, making him guilty about the things he thought about her.

Her eyes glint across him –he’s still taken aback by the colour but he’s seen the photos of her brother and apparently it’s a family trait. She doesn’t mention whatever she’s heard out of his thoughts. He blushes under her scrutiny, and tries to think about random things but everything that crosses his mind leads to somewhere dangerous.

“You’re drifting,” her voice cuts in through his haze, “focus. I hear everything you think.”

Harry feels terror course through him and her eyebrows arch. “Harry, I was only baiting you. _Now_ , I can hear everything.”

Harry gulps, and thinks about Snape’s dreadful class last week when they had to brew Wolfsbane potion and he dropped hints about Remus left and right.

“That’s rude,” Lydia says, voice amused and her eyes alive with interest. Harry thinks he shouldn’t find them so distracting but a part of him think she’s doing it on purpose, manipulating his mind.

“I’m not manipulating you,” she laughs, “everything you think is a product of your mind and only your mind. I can’t plant thoughts there. I can only guide you towards a thought.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles quickly but she shakes her head.

“How do you know I’m not lying? Maybe I can plant a thought.”

He grunts in pain when she barges inside his head, probing around his most valuable memories. She slows down when she stumbles across his first memories with Sirius, and Harry, with horror, realises she’s watching his memories like a movie in his mind and he’s completely helpless against her.

“Stop it,” he hisses, clutching his head between his palms.

“It’s your job to stop me,” she says, unbothered by the pain she causes, and flickers through his memories like she’s examining a catalague. “The Dark Lord won’t leave you alone because you asked nicely. Not that you were particularly nice here. I won’t either. You know I’m not supposed to be there. You own your mind.”

Harry forces himself to focus, trying to imagine this memory as a VCD. He tries to put it inside the box in front of him but just as the thought crosses his mind Lydia’s voice booms in his head, causing another wave of ache through his whole body, his muscles tensing.

“That’s not going to work. You’re trying to put your memories with your godfather into a box that is strongly attached to him. It’s as if you’re telling me to come get it. Harry, do you not value these memories?”

“I said stop it,” he yells, the fury her words ignite unparalleled to anything he ever felt. He expects her to leave his head like Snape did but she laughs, her face impassive on the outside while the sound echoes in his ears.

“You cannot scare me or the Dark Lord with your anger, Harry,” she mocks him, and Harry desperately wishes for Sirius to come back. Their last lesson wasn’t like this.

He wonders if she’s doing this because of the letter she received.

“I don’t have any problems controlling my emotions.”

Her mouth still doesn’t move, and she looks utterly at ease.

“It doesn’t have to be fair,” she goes on even though he doesn’t have the energy to think about anything. She’s probably more aware and conscious of his own thoughts than he is now. “You’re going to have to work for it. Push for it. Not everything will come as easy Quidditch, Harry. Sometimes you’ll have to cry with the pain of it.”

“You’re worse than Snape,” he whimpers.

“I know, but it’s in your hands to decide that you’re not hurting. This is your head, Harry. You can differentiate between me and you so easily if you listen for it. I’m the visitor here. You don’t have to follow me where I want to go. Use it to your advantage.”

Harry settles back in the chair, forcefully relaxing his body and ruminates about her words. Her consciousness touch random memories, some irrelevant, some deeply personal but he doesn’t allow it to get to his nerves. He allows her visit different times in his life as he tries to get to know her, the sound of her footsteps, the way she touches the objects, the way words align when she speaks at random intervals.

“You’ve never even told Sirius about these,” she states the obvious as she examines his life with the Dursleys.

Harry doesn’t respond, and feels a flicker of excitement as he catches a glimpse of her in Dursleys’ kitchen, watching Harry cook with his skinny arms, juggling two pots on the oven at the same time.

Her eyes follow little Harry as he carries two plates sitting on the counter to the table, his tongue sticking from the corner to keep his balance.

This is my own mind, Harry reminds himself and wills a knife to appear in his hand. He almost laughs in delight when he feels the weight and leaps at her when her back is still turned.

He slashes through the air.

He feels a sharp pain behind him, his hand suddenly empty and he chokes on his spit, then blood. “You’re too loud.”

He heaves for a breath, toppling to the floor when his surroundings turn back to Grimmauld Place and gentle hands straighten him up, rubbing circles on his back. The phantom pain of knife digging into his organs remains and he pats his back to make sure there isn’t actually one.

It is Sirius who’s cradling him, while Lydia sits with an unimpressed frown on her face but he feels it’s directed at Sirius, not him.

“Don’t coddle him,” Lydia says in a bored tone. “We don’t have time to be gentle.”

Harry thinks her methods are suddenly very similar to Snape’s but he flinches at the thought of Snape instead of Lydia going through his memories. At least, he knows Lydia doesn’t go out of her own way to torment him.

“It’s alright,” he tells Sirius and nods at Lydia, pushing himself back up to sit back on his chair.

She taps her chin, squinting at him. “How about you use Legilimency on me? Maybe you’ll do a better job if you see what I mean.”

He nods, reaching back to take his wand out. His hands tremble as he points the wand to her head. For a second, he thinks he could kill her and no one could stop him.

“What would you gain from that?” she says. Her mouth doesn’t move and his wand turns towards himself. He tries to stop her but he can’t fight her and it shoots a lightning through his arm when he resists.

“Your problem is that you don’t see me as a threat,” she says, cutting, harsh. His other hand inches towards his neck. “You managed to fight of the Dark Lord’s Imperius but you can’t fight this off because you think there’s not a chance I’d actually kill you. You allow me to roam in your head, sucking your memories and tainting them with my presence, adding myself to every scene I touch because you think I won’t use it against you but you know Snape will.”

Harry’s eyes fall on Sirius’ blanched face but he doesn’t make a move to help him. He can’t tell if she’s speaking aloud or talking to his head, like his own special whisperer.

“How can you be sure I’m not here to sell you out? What makes you believe I’m not playing with Sirius to help Barty? He’s my best friend, Harry. Would it surprise you to learn I work with him?”

The idea –abrupt, out of nowhere, a perfect answer to this puzzle- seems logical and his mind wanders to his talks with Moody-Crouch, for some reason going through each memories with care. Fondness surges inside him as he listens Moody-Crouch’s lectures, in classroom and in private. He’s forgotten how precise he was at teaching. He learned a lot from the man. He was the one to suggest him to be an Auror. Such an great, talented man, he muses as he watches Crouch being interrogated with a Veritaserum, next to Lydia. They’ve been so hard on him. He’s suffered more than enough.

Lydia leans in and taps him on the shoulder when Dumbledore staves off the dementors with Expecto Patronum. “Is this you idea of keeping me out?”

Harry realises only then that he was seeing Crouch through her lenses.

He glares at Lydia when she exists his mind. But he’s still not certain his surroundings are real and he feels like his mind is about to shatter.

“I don’t trust her,” Harry grumbles, making Sirius rub his face and Lydia toss her head back in laughter.

“Don’t muddle his brain,” Sirius says like he doesn’t have hope she’ll follow through.

“He’s so impressionable,” Lydia says, “no wonder Barty tricked you.”

“Like he tricked you,” Harry snaps.

“Are you sure he tricked me?”

“Lydia!” Sirius huffs and gets up.

“Oh my god,” Lydia throws a pillow at him, “get out. You’re worse than Lucius Malfoy.”

Sirius holds the pillow like he’s contemplating throwing it back but puts it back, out of her reach, with a pointed look. “I don’t want to know the story behind that comparison.”

“Sirius,” Lydia gives him a tight smile. “I can’t shape him up if you hover over our heads.”

“I don’t want you to shape me up!” Harry objects, looking over his shoulder as Sirius walks away with a guilt coming off him in waves.

“Tough luck,” she takes a sip from her cup. Harry squints his eyes to see what’s inside but she doesn’t put it on the coffee table between them.

“You’re not old enough to drink this,” she offers. “Come on, you’re going to say _Legilimens_. The spell itself is quite easy. What’s hard is navigating inside another person’s head.”

Harry lifts his wand, doesn’t think about murdering her and murmurs the incantation.

It really is an easy spell. The silver shoots from the tip of his wand and he feels himself get sucked inside her head but he ends up in the same room.

“Is this your metaphor?” he asks, poking the table with his toe.

“Of course not,” she says, with a hint of annoyance in her voice. “The metaphor cannot be personal or you’d give everything away. This is only what I want you to see, so you’re seeing it.”

“I don’t see how this will help if you only show me this.”

“You know this is not real. Smash it to pieces if you need to. But you only need to look for signs.”

“Like what?”

“Look,” she insists.

Harry’s gaze wanders around and he doesn’t get what she means. It looks like it always does, not a distorted image here or a strange item there.

His eyes catch the titles of the books.

Lydia smiles, wide and appreciative. “They’re rather out of place, aren’t they? I have no idea what the titles are, so I’m making them up. or I have no idea how the chair behind that oak desk looks. If you go behind, you’ll find it floating in the air. Focus on the things people don’t usually pay attention to.”

He nods and he can’t understand how he didn’t get it when he first saw it. There is an uncertain edge to the room that there isn’t in reality like Lydia’s focus slips at times and they evolve the more they stand here.

“The more you let me hold this, the more power you give me. If you’re going to do it, do it now.”

Harry regards her with suspicion but decides to go for it. he gets up and walks to the door but her voice stops him when he grasps the handle.

“The door is locked.”

He turns it anyway.

It is locked. He thumps his head to the door, gritting his teeth when she blows a breath.

***

“You’re too hard on him.”

“I’m sick to death with this conversation,” Lydia mumbles as she goes through the documents Felix sent him. He doesn’t understand what requires her attention this urgently that she doesn’t even deign looking up.

“He looked ready to fall over,” Sirius ignores her. “ _Snape_ had to keep him upright!”

“He’s not improving,” she throws the papers next to her, scowling at Sirius. “He can’t even tell when I’m in his head. I’m shit at Legilimency, Sirius. I don’t even try it with anyone.”

“Maybe you’re better than you think,” Sirius says with arched brows. Occlumency usually goes hand in hand with Legilimency.

“I’m pretty sure the Dark Lord is better at this than I am. I know Barty is,” she holds up a finger, when he opens his mouth to argue. “Who do you think taught him?”

“I thought you two worked on it together,” he grumbles, not quite managing to ignore the jealousy it brings.

“We did but he always bested me back then,” she says, not seeming bothered that Crouch had toyed around in her head.

“And now?” he asks, fearing the answer. He knows Remus and Tonks weren’t able to go through his defences.

“I don’t think so. He tried but he wasn’t in the best state when I saw him.”

His letter dances in front of his eyes and his hatred for the man comes back with vengeance. He should’ve read it multiple times, until it was ingrained in his memory forever.

_Lydia,_

_I know receiving this will unsettle you, but I had to reach you somehow. And I don’t want you to complain that I didn’t send you a letter next time we see each other._

_I know you’re worrying about me (don’t try to deny it) but no need. I’m fine and healthy. Don’t try to find me, since I will be with my own lot from now on._

_I’m not going to ask you to join us because that’s not you. I’m going to ask you to leave. Please, leave now. Go to Australia or Zimbabwe or wherever. Dolohov can’t keep it together in front of the Dark Lord long enough to stop talking about your death and Bellatrix goads him on._

_I’m risking my neck leaving this to you. Please don’t let this go to waste. Get out of the country, take your family and stay safe until this is over. If you do, I swear to you I’ll travel to hell and back to stop Dolohov or anyone that means to harm you when my Lord is in power. But I can’t do it if you stay here and face him._

_I miss you. Believe me when I say it was the highlight of my last fifteen years to see you. I want my best friend back but I know it’s impossible now. Let’s stay alive. We didn’t even have time to talk about Narcissa and Lucius’ boy. He’s atrocious, let me tell you but I reckon you’ve met him. If you ask me, it’d do more good to this world if we killed him instead of Potter. Thank Merlin she wasn’t fertile like those Weasleys._

_It’s been so long. I’m sure you have many stories to tell me. I want to hear them all. I want to hear about those new developments in psychiatry you told me about. I want to hear if you kissed and made up with Black. Tell hi from me, but I guess he’ll read this letter regardless. We’ve got a lot of stories together as well. You should ask him._

_I’m begging you to leave, Lydia. Nowhere in this country is safe enough. Leave so we can meet again in another day._

_Barty._

“I see what you’re doing,” she says quietly, defeated, and Sirius turns his gaze on her. Her mouth is curled on one side but it looks like anything but a smile. He is completely taken aback by the deep sadness in her eyes. She swallows, sucking her bottom lip into her mouth.

“How do you mean?” Sirius asks, even though he doesn’t want to hear. He doesn’t want her honesty.

“You’re turning yourself into a sacrifice.”

She keeps their eye contact, her eyes filling with tears, and Sirius distantly realises, out of all those times he’s made her cry, this is the first time it isn’t because of his harsh words, his brute, his recklessness, his coldness.

He’s never once made her cry out of happiness, out of pleasure.

Always agony.

“You’ve done it when James died,” she whispers after a while, fixing her eyes to the floor. A tear finds a path to her mouth and he finds he can’t look away until it disappears. “Now you are doing it with Harry. I can’t stomach watching it.”

His heart spasms, a blinding ache spreading to his neck, to his arm. She surges from her seat, and knells in front of him, oblivious. Her hand, so small, with faint translucent scar on her ring finger, grasps his chin gently to make him look at her. When she speaks, her voice is firm but gentle. “I can’t stand by you to watch you destroy yourself. Don’t do it, you’re not a filler. You’re not a chapter in someone else’s story. You’re not here to be someone’s memory.”

As he stares into her face, her eyes almost brown in dim light, her mouth wet with tears, the realisation dawns on him, that she loves him, in all the right ways. She loves him in the ways he never loved her, to this point in his life.

His love was, in some ways, about his need to be the most important person in her life. His need to know that she can’t live without him. At times, he felt like he was tugging at her stronger than she could physically untangle herself from, never giving her space to accommodate other people. Making a point of keeping her at arm’s length whenever she refused to play by his rules, until she was grasping at him with desperate hands. He wanted to be the one to see all of her smiles, hear all of her songs, know all of her secrets. He wanted to be her husband, her best friend, her mentor, her family.

In the end, he managed to be just a memory.

She did live without him. She can live without him now too.

This is her very core, her refusal to be owned, by any person, by any ideology, by any sorrow. This is what got him so frustrated when he was younger, despite how much he admired it. It was always so easy for her to find her footing anywhere, to know and be sure of her self worth, regardless of people’s thoughts or actions.

“I can never be like you,” he admits and her face softens with a smile. She stands up, holding his face in her palms and his eyes close when she caresses his cheekbones with her thumbs.

“I don’t want you to be like me,” she says softly, as he buries his cheek in her palm. She tangles her fingers into his hair, “I want you to reclaim yourself.” She tugs at his hair hard enough to make him look up, and she fixes him with a severe look. “And I want you to do it for yourself.”

Sirius thinks it would be much easier to do it for her, to keep her at his side.

But he wants to love her in the right way, for once.

“I’ll try,” he says.

She laughs and she looks every bit the sixteen year old girl who got so bashful whenever he kissed her in front of people. “That’s enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is she too harsh on harry? idk.   
> hope you enjoyed!


	18. Chapter 18

“Can I cut your hair?”

Sirius’ hand flies to his head, patting his curls. “Why?”

His question makes her stop in her tracks for a second but she pulls herself together. “I used to cut it for you. You liked it short.”

A weight settles on his chest, growing heavier with each second he can’t remember. How fitting he remembers the grim parts of his life while he’s forgotten the cheerful parts.

“You were good at it then,” he smiles at her, deciding to ignore the sharp pain in the centre of his ribcage. “Well, add it to the pile. Our to-do list are expanding.”

“I tried giving you bad haircuts so girls would lay off of you but didn’t work,” she laughs, at herself or at other girls, he doesn’t know. She makes a dramatic movement with her hand. “You stayed gorgeous and girls kept crushing on you.”

She moves the covers and slips inside. She pats the empty space next to her, fixing him with a impatient glare when he doesn’t obey.

“Come, Sirius.”

“That only works with Padfoot, you know,” he says, shaking off his stupor, kicking off his slippers to transform.

“I don’t want Padfoot tonight, I want you.”

She slips into her childhood accent, as it happens when she’s truly nervous. Sirius doesn’t know what she’s so afraid of. Does she think he’d refuse? It sounds ridiculous even in his own head. Sirius’ pulse races against his throat and he can swear his bones melt as he stares at her in his bed. Fingers twisting around the sheets, her soft hair draped across the pillow in her, dressed in her matching pajamas.

He moves faster than his aching body should allow, lest she changes her mind.

He turns the lights off and tries not to fidget as he’s prone to do, unable to sleep for hours. It’s always easier to sleep as Padfoot but he can always tell the effects the next day.

“Sirius?” her voice breaks the silence in pitch black room.

He hums in response and twists until he lays on his side. He hears rustling as she inches her hand closer, her fingertips resting on his pulse point on his neck, no doubt able to count every heartbeat.

“Is there something bothering you?” he asks when she stays silent.

“I’m…” her voice echoes in the room, almost mocking her hesitant tone. “I’m grateful that you want me back.”

It’s such an absurd thing to say. Sirius knows she’s serious, from her shallow breaths fanning his face, to her slight tremor to her icy fingers.

It’s something he should be thinking. Something he’s thought many times.

Such a joke that she’s the one saying that.

He tells her what he’s thinking, his voice harsher than he intends.

She doesn’t reply but shifts closer, their legs tangling, her head resting on his arm. His senses flood with the refreshing smell of her shampoo, and his breaths get deeper, his heart beating stronger, with more certainty upon her closeness.

He puts a hand around her waist and pulls her close until she hides her face into the crook of his neck.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again,” Sirius murmurs, as sleep starts to take him away.

“I always knew we’d meet again.”

He falls into sleep, his neck tingling with the feel of her lips against his skin.

***

Sirius has told himself multiple times to wake up before Lydia but he couldn’t set the alarm. Lydia wakes up before him again. When he opens his eyes, it’s to a much brighter room than he’s used to. It causes a faint pulsing in his temples but it’s not blinding or agonising. Just mildly annoying.

He hasn’t been drinking much in the last few days. Lydia had been keeping him busy at all moments, and he doesn’t know if it’s because she wants to distract him from alcohol or it’s because her inability to stay without doing anything. She’d go mad in Azkaban in a few weeks.

She is propped up with several pillows, dressed in her pajamas with a light green mask on her face. She reads one of the books she chose from the library with utmost attention, though Sirius doesn’t understand what’s so fascinating about “Hidden Gems of Scandinavia”.

“Is it good?” he asks with a croaked voice.

She jumps a little but her face doesn’t change, frozen by the stiff material. “I’ve marked some places we can go,” she says, barely moving her lips, and shifts through pages, showing him places that look way too similar.

He makes approving noises, urging her on to show more with fumbling fingers.

He is in love with her optimism.

“Did you eat?” he asks when she looks for another waterfall or lake or fjord.

She doesn’t answer, lost in her attempt to find yet another place and it leaves his lips without his permission.

“I’d rather go somewhere warm.”

She stills, her eyes wide and her mouth open like an alien caricature in Muggle comics. She shuts the book with a bang and drops it on the floor.

“Of course,” she shakes her head, chuckling like she can’t believe it. She stares at the wall, as Sirius holds an internal debate on how to sew his mouth shut.

“Sicily?” she says, with a touch of uncertainty.

His heart stops for a moment, than starts to beat with more vigour than before, warming him back up.

“That sounds great,” Sirius traces the vein on top of her hand, thinking Lydia probably sees just as much sun as he does, if her complexion is anything to go by.

“And Croatia,” she continues, enthusiastic, “I’ve never had an opportunity to go there.” She looks at Sirius for confirmation.

“We can go see Scandinavia’s hidden gems too, Lydia.”

She waves her hand, almost slapping his face in her distracted state. “We’ll go there when we’re sick of sweating and getting sunburnt.”

“I don’t get sunburnt,” Sirius objects.

“Yes because you’ve sunbathed a lot in Azkaban and Grimmauld Place,” she snorts.

He flicks her thigh, making her shriek. “I’ll have you know, I’ve spent my summer in Thailand before your best friend decided to terrorise the Quidditch Cup.”

She stares at him blankly before she abruptly swats at his hand clutching her thigh. “Why didn’t you invite me?”

He holds his hand to his chest, rubbing his hand. “How rude of me not to invite my ex fiancé who left without saying goodbye.”

Her right hand closes in a fist before she purposefully relaxes it. She starts playing with her ring finger like there’s still a ring there, like she did when she really had it on.

“How did you have it on you? I didn’t think they’d allow for jewellery in Azkaban,” she asks in a low voice, not looking at him. Sirius thinks it’s rather ridiculous to have this conversation with that thing on her face but doesn’t mention it.

“I sent our rings to Mother when you left.” He thought back than it would hurt her more than it hurt him. How foolish and naïve he had been. “I found them in her safe box.”

She sighs, jaw working and leaves to go into bathroom without a word. She moves like she’s an intruder, almost a thief, with her feather light feet and flighty touches. He hears the water running and she comes out a few minutes later with her clean and bare face.

She doesn’t come back to bed though. She goes to the wardrobe, opening _her side,_ rummaging through her belongings while he goes into bathroom to relieve himself and brush his teeth.

When he comes back, she’s still fumbling. Sirius doesn’t point out she already has more stuff than he does. He likes it too much to divert her attention to it.

She walks towards his side of bed –he still can’t wrap his mind around it- and sits, with her back facing him, tucking one leg under the other. Her fist is closed, knuckles white and for a moment Sirius worries that she’s going to punch him.

But she opens her palms and extends it towards him, displaying what she’s holding.

Her ring, simple because it had to fit with all of her clothes. Charmed so it would take a colour that fits her other jewellery she wears that day.

Sirius reaches forward to his drawers and takes his own ring out, putting it beside hers.

“Here they are,” he whispers.

Lydia cranes her neck, resting the back of her head on his shoulder, a flush spreading down her torso and her hand closes in a fist, as if she wants to protect them from his gaze.

Sirius’ hands grasp her waist, before he slides them forward to rest on her belly. Her breathing gets laboured and her fingers open, revealing the rings.

He inhales, the familiar scent, her skin, her perfume, her shampoo, all of them taking him to somewhere safer and somewhere new at the same time.

“Don’t drop them,” he murmurs into her ear, and a shiver travels down her body and with that his hand slips into her knickers.

She gasps in his arms, her back arching for a moment before she lets out a laugh.

“You should’ve kissed me first,” she says, closing her eyes.

He buts his nose into her cheek. “I want to see your eyes,” he tells her, letting his hand wander south, enjoying her quiet whimpers.

She blinks and her mouth curves into one side as his fingers find their way like they’ve never parted. “Are you going to make me beg?”

Sirius hooks her fingers inside her and she starts to shake, but keeps her eyes open. “I told you I wasn’t going to kiss you until you did.”

Her mouth grazes his jaw and Sirius realises he might not be in charge of the moment after all.

“Have I ever told you I love you?”

He feels it more than he hears.

“It’s been a while.”

She hadn’t been the only person to tell him that, but she’d been the first, and the last.

“I have loved you ever since I was old enough to know myself, Sirius Black,” she says, their lips barely touching, “even if you haven’t heard it in a long time.”

Her lips, softer than he remembers, on his own.

He’s forgotten how this felt like, but somehow, it feels like a second chance instead of a curse.

***

Lydia’s eyes roam over the paperclips without care, and Sirius wishes he was a Legilimens.

“You’re taking this well,” he comments.

Her brows rise, and she sends him an amused look. “I’m not an idiot, Sirius. He knew what he was doing when he joined.”

He sighs, throwing himself on the bed as he purposefully doesn’t look at the walls. Lydia barely touches her surroundings, as if she’s afraid their mere presence will ruin the memory of Regulus.

She looks at the books, the photographs but doesn’t lay a finger on a single thing.

“At first, it felt like I failed him,” she says, her voice low but clear in the dusty room. Sirius lifts his head to look at her and startles when their eyes meet.

“You didn’t.”

She ignores his input. “Then I started feeling like I lost a brother, and now I feel like I lost a son when I think about him.”

Bile rises up from his throat into his mouth but he swallows it down.

“Since when you feel like you’ve lost a son?” the words tumble out of his mouth and he hears it at the same time as she does.

Her eyes turns icy, and it looks even colder with the smile that adorns her face.

He does not remember that either but he doesn’t know if that’s good or bad.

“I waited for you to come after me for weeks,” she says, her tone light and almost cheerful. “I sent Barty to spy on you to report back to me.”

He remembers, with mortification, what happened after that.

“You fucked a girl three weeks later,” she tilts her head to the side like it explains everything.

He waits for her to continue but she only glares at him like she’s daring him to speak up. “So it was retaliation?” His mouth curls into a sneer.

She twitches like she’s holding back her words, for more impact, no doubt and goes on like she’s not heard it. “You fucked two other girls in the next month. But I waited until the last day I could take the potion.”

She pats down her skirt and looks at him like he’s the last person on earth she’s like to see.

“I have no idea what happened after that. I took Barty off your back. Would you like to fill in the blanks?”

Sirius has never known breathing could require this much effort. “You’ve always chosen to use your truths as a weapon.”

She huffs and throws herself next to him, hiding her face under her arm. “I have never pretended to be a decent person. Take it or leave it.”

“I’ll take it,” he says after a pause. It’s never been a question.

She laughs, but it’s still a cruel sound. “I know. That was always your weakness, wasn’t it? You wanted to own me. You wanted me to need you. And I loved you so much I allowed it. I always let you walk all over me even in the end I didn’t mean shit to you.”

He grabs her arm to look at her face, forcing it down when she tries to yank it back. “I know I treated you horribly at times,” he says, preferring not to take note of her snort, “But you are no angel. You always threatened me with yourself. You told me you’d move back in with your grandmother if I didn’t stay with you when you were at home. I planned everything according to your schedule. I only saw James and Harry when you were at university. I asked you before I went anywhere. You gave me cold shoulder for every woman that looked at me while you spent your nights at a guy’s place whenever you got pissed at me, a guy who was in love with you,” he holds up a finger when she opens her mouth in protest, “I only asked you to put a space between yourself and him and you never budged. You told me the only way I’d never see him is when you left.”

“He was never in love with me, I’ve told you-“

“Lydia, be honest,” he cuts her off. “Would you end up with Barty if I wasn’t in your life?”

She considers this for a few seconds, before she shakes her head in resolution.

“I wouldn’t be me without you. I can’t talk for someone else. Are you glad to exist now?”

He lets his body go lax, the warmth her words caused burning through the heartache she brought just a few minutes ago. “I’m glad this is the world you’re mine.”

She looks like she’s ready to drop the subject but her eyes narrow again. “I never threatened you with myself. They were only warnings. Because you only cared about that. You didn’t care when I cried. When I shouted. When I didn’t speak to you.”

“I’m willing to spend the rest of my life showing you how much worth you are to me.”

“Only if I allow you,” she says, her eyes glinting in indignation.

“I’m not the only one with a weakness, dear,” he says as he places his head on her chest, letting the steady beat of her heart dull the pain in his head.

He expects her to push him away in anger but her fingers tangle in his hair, threading through them with care. “You’re such a beautiful weakness to have.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I'm finished with this rotation!!! i have gone through a needlestick injury (the patient's markers all came negative, thankfully), and today one of the residents I work with turned out to be covid+, so it's another week of me wearing masks in the house before I give a sample. but I feel really good regardless.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


	19. Chapter 19

Lydia has gone from not daring to touch anything, to throwing everything on the floor, mixing everything up until it’s nothing more than chaos, igniting a touch of disbelief in Sirius. He tries to calm her down, with his words, with his touches, and in the end he tries to drag her away by force but she becomes more restless more she looks over Regulus’ belongings.

“He’s my oldest friend,” Lydia tells him, when he tries to convince her to take a break.

“And you were his oldest friend,” he says, an attempt at directing her attention but she shakes him off.

“He’d make me laugh when you ignored me.”

“I was embarrassed,” he defends himself but her attention is already back on some ornate knife.

“He had dreams,” she says, almost to herself. “He wanted to find Merlin’s wand.”

That makes him pause, causing some distant memories to stir. “Is that why you chose this job for yourself?”

She looks at him like she’s disappointed by him.

He doesn’t recognize most of what he sees, but Lydia tells him little stories about gifts he’s never asked about, or he’s never even seen. She shows him the little glass ball he knows from Rosiers’ summer house, given to Regulus by Elaine when he turned seventeen.

He did not know Elaine kept seeing them even after he ran away. Even after Regulus joined the Death Eaters. He doesn’t know if that makes him arrogant, to think their engagement was the only thing that kept them together.

“It collects negative emotions,” she murmurs as she holds it up to see inside, her face screwed up in concentration. “Not exactly legal, since it could be used to release those emotions as well. They had a case like this in Durmstrang a few years ago. They called me in to investigate.”

It’s cloudy, turbulent and it reminds him of Azkaban. He wonders how Regulus managed to keep that inside him. How he managed to feel all of his in just a year.

“You never told me you two kept seeing each other.”

He tries to keep the accusation out of his voice but it creeps in anyway. She freezes, her body going unnaturally still. Her fingers -still bare, he ought to fix that- tense on the ball and for a second he worries she’ll throw it at his head.

“You never wanted to hear about him,” Lydia reminds him. She shakes her head, rolling her shoulders, causing her joints to pop. “And I didn’t. See him.”

“How so?” he asks in confusion. “I thought you saw him when you went to visit Crouch.”

Lydia clicks her tongue. “He was barely there. Barty told me he stayed at Grimmauld Place most of the time. I don’t know how much of it was a lie,” she trails off, with a distant expression on his face. She bites down on her lips and looks up at him from the floor where she’s sitting cross legged.

“We met once a week before he died.”

It takes him a few seconds before he finds his voice. “What happened?”

Lydia turns her gaze towards the last boxes on the floor, and for a second she suddenly seems lifeless, like she’s devoid of any emotion, any relation, any pain.

She shakes it off quickly but Sirius knows he’s witnessed something dangerous.

“He found me when I waited for you during one of your interviews.”

He remembers that, working at some random Muggle or magical stores to stave off the boredom. With Lydia at university and James being busy with Lily, he had too much time to spend with himself.

“I’ve always thought he committed suicide after that.”

Her words, free of any judgement but also without any feeling feels like a punch in his stomach. “Where did you get the idea?”

“It was a few days before he was declared missing. We haven’t talked in a year at that point, so I assumed he was thinking about getting out. Then the news came and I thought they got the whiff of it, so they killed him off. But after a few months I came across with my brother and he told me they never got him.”

“So you thought he decided to off himself rather than being caught and got tortured.”

“Basically, yeah.”

Sirius squints at her face, and that expression is so familiar that he has to say it. “It’s not your fault.”

“It’s not about it being my fault,” she says, but he doesn’t miss the snappy undertone. “It’s about him having to kill himself because he didn’t believe anyone would help him.”

Sirius tilts his head and waits until she opens her eyes. “Do you ever think Regulus might not have died if I treated him right?”

She tosses her head back, and rolls her eyes. “I literally killed my brother,” she huffs, but her expression loses it’s edge, making her seem like a child again. “I’m not the one to criticize about sibling relationships.”

He should’ve just let her jab go. “Does your family know about that?” he blurts out.

She closes the lid of the last box, her eyes blinking too fast to be natural. “They do. But we’ve never talked about it.”

Sirius regards her carefully, at lost for words and in the end gets up and sits cross legged next to her, their knees pressed against each other.

He feels it down to his very bones.

She turns his head sideways to Sirius. “Do you want to know what we talked?”

He doesn’t. He says, “Please.”

_It would’ve fooled anyone else, but Lydia can tell Sirius and Regulus apart from hundred meters away._

_“That‘s what happens when you inbreed since the beginning of time,” she says, her gaze fixed on Rabastan Lestrange trying to chat up Penelope Parkinson, who somehow became gorgeous as she grew up._

_Regulus startles, probably thinking he was invisibible, waves at his face after a few seconds of pregnant pause. “This is also what happens when you inbreed. Not too bad is it?”_

_She lifts her gaze to Regulus and snorts when her eyes fall on his over the top Muggle costume. “Halloween is over, Reggie.”_

_“What?” Regulus asks with his brows furrowed._

_“Nevermind,” she says. “Are you going to stand over me like like an ogre?”_

_“Didn’t want to assume,” he mumbles, but sits down even if he doesn’t meet her eyes._

_“Sirius just left,” she says, reaching out to her pocket to take out her cigarettes. “But you already know that, since you’ve been trailing us for an hour.”_

_He ignores her barb and swats at the cigarette she puts in her mouth. “Quit this.”_

_“Piss off,” she says, lighting it up, enjoying the grimace on Regulus’ face thoroughly._

_The silence that follows is unbearably uncomfortable._

_“Flint knocked up his girlfriend.”_

_Lydia almost drops her cigarette. “Fucking hell, is the girlfriend pureblood?”_

_“No but they’re covering it up,” Regulus says, his distaste showing up on his face for a second before he clears it up. “I’ve always thought you’d be the first one to get knocked up. Mother is still hoping for that.”_

_She hits him on the shoulder, and blows the smoke on his face._

_“Oh come on, can you tell me Sirius is careful?”_

_“I am.”_

_He rubs his shoulder and waves his hand in front of his face when she blows it on his face again. “If you two count on your sense of responsibility, then you’ll end up with a child in a few years.”_

_“Do give me your advice, then. I won’t even tell Sirius advice came from his little brother.”_

_“Never shag when you’re drunk. That’s the key.”_

_Lydia has to bite her lips to stifle her giggles. “How many times exactly you got drunk in your life ?”_

_“Ask me how many times I had sex when I was drunk instead,” he replies, unbothered._

_“Or maybe I’ll ask how many times you had sex,” she shots back._

_“I know I’m the handsome brother but you need to tone it down, Lyd.”_

_She takes a pointed sip from her coffee. “You wish, Reggie. I got the man.”_

_“Nah,” he says, leaning back with a pleased expression on his face. “He’s got the girl, Lyd, remember that.”_

_Lydia can’t answer because she suddenly has a sore throat and runny nose, like she’s had an ice cream in December._

_It’s so easy to talk to Regulus, for Lydia, since the mines they have to avoid are obvious and they’ve been walking away from those topics for a long time._

_Still, when Regulus gets up to leave when they see Sirius leaving the building, she says it._

_“You know I’d help you if you needed it, right? Not with him obviously but... I’ve got money. I’ve got recourses. It’s all yours, Reg.”_

_He smiles, and it actually reaches his eyes. “You’d be the first person I’d ask.”_

***

Half an hour later, they find a locket.

“It looks like the dark mark,” Lydia says, her face scrunching up in disgust before she drops it from her hand.

“Where did you see it?” Sirius asks, his gaze fixed on the offending subject, supporting Lydia so she doesn’t fall on the floor as she shakes in his arms.

“When my father died,” she whispers, but it’s almost like she’s not here with him, with her frantic eyes going over the room too quickly to follow, surely making her dizzy in the process.

“Let’s take this to Tonks,” he murmurs, grabbing the necklace from the floor, his heart suddenly responding to the touch, like it’s resisting against a hand squeezing, shooting up a throbbing pain through his left shoulder and arm.

Tonks comes to Grimmauld Place running after she gets Lydia’s message, which sends a flicker of disbelief in Sirius, since she responds to Lydia’s request in less than ten minutes.

“I’ve seen this somewhere,” Tonks repeats, “but this is not the dark mark.”

Lydia shrugs, and leans her weight further on Sirius. “I’m not sure.” She laughs. “Why don’t we ask Snape to show us?”

Sirius pokes her in her side, pressing his lips together to hide his grin when Remus glares at her with his jaw clenched. Sirius knows he'd be laughing too if he wasn't the one to deal with Snape afterwards. 

Tonks snorts. "He does bring the nasty side of you out."

Lydia rolls her eyes, exchanging a glance with Sirius. She turns the right side of her face towards Tonks and says, "Are you sure? This is my pretty side."

This time, Sirius allows himself to laugh.

“We are all sure we’ve seen this,” Remus cuts in, “someone will recognise it, for sure.”

“It looks so familiar,” Lydia murmurs, “I feel like I’ve seen this at our estates. Maybe in some portrait?”

“Could be,” Remus allows. “But we’ll have to take this to Dumbledore anyway. It doesn’t feel right.”

“It can’t be something the Dark Lord gave to Regulus,” Lydia says, “In that case someone else would’ve gotten it back.”

“We don’t know it belongs to Voldemort,” Remus reminds her.

“It belongs to him,” Lydia presses, not giving an inch from her point. Sirius dearly wishes she’s wrong.

***

It still feels ethereal to Sirius but they prepare for bed at the same time, in the same room, ending up in the same bed once more. Lydia doesn’t interact much with him except shouldering him to get to shower first, but she’s still in front of the mirror when he emerges, with his clothes on.

“You know you don’t have to get dressed in the bathroom.”

“You want a peek?”

“If I wanted a peek I’d tell you to take your clothes off, dear,” she winks at him from the mirror, “but I’m too tired for that now.”

“Tomorrow?” he asks, his hope apparent in his voice.

She smiles, but doesn’t answer.

“Come here,” he pats _her pillow_ , but she doesn’t hurry up and Sirius is half sure she does it to annoy him. But he doesn’t get annoyed, deciding that watching her waste time around his bedroom might be his new favourite thing.

Then she ruins his peace when she reaches her back and unclasps her bra, throwing it on the bed with a mischievous grin.

“I thought you were too tired.”

“I am,” she laughs, “doesn’t mean I’m going to sleep with a bra because you can’t control yourself.”

He grabs it, and puts it on over his top, pretending to cup his own tits. Lydia erupts into little giggles, her face colouring slightly as sits on the bed and straddles him.

She wraps her arms around his neck and Sirius regrets having her bra between them, basically a barrier between their chests.

“Take it off,” she says, “it’s expensive.”

“Penny pincher,” he mouths as he does as she says.

He feels himself grow harder as she settles closer, not leaving an inch of space between them from head to toe.

“I thought you were too tired,” he repeats when she starts tracing his jaw with her lips, feeling her mouth curving into a smile. He turns his face and captures her mouth before she can form a reply, fisting one of his hands in her hair, and grabbing her arse with the other.

“I’m never too tired for you,” she breaths out when he takes a moment to look at her face, her skin pink and her mouth open and shiny.

“I’ll remind you of your words in future.”

“Please do,” she toys with the buttons of his top, “now would you please get undressed?”

***

“I feel so old.”

Sirius is almost startled by his own voice, surprised to hear his thoughts out loud. He’d rather have not started complaining at that moment, if he were given a chance.

Lydia scrutinises his face, her fingers drawing circles on his chest, light as a feather, and seems to come to a conclusion. “No, you’re good.”

Her answer, an chance for Sirius to close the topic, makes him snort.

He chooses to take the harder path. “I don’t mean that.”

Lydia doesn’t respond but she watches him with unblinking eyes.

“Did you ever feel this way?” he asks her.

She remains silent for a few minutes, and Sirius gives her time she needs to find her words.

“I did,” she says finally, “when the war was over, it started for me. I thought I lost best years of my life, that I was so old. I dreamed of going back a few years and remaining there. I would’ve chosen to go back and die, rather than live on at that point. I didn’t care about the war. I didn’t care about living. I just wanted what I had back.”

She pauses. “I wanted you back. Barty. Evan. I wanted to be sixteen again and see everyone I loved in the same day.”

“Death,” he says, to himself, and she hums into his neck.

“I wish I could be all those other things for you,” he confesses, and somehow he feels lighter saying a thing that makes him vulnerable to one person who’s most capable of hurting his feelings.

Lydia extends her arm and squeezes until he can’t breathe properly. “I don’t need or want you to be anyone else.”

“That’s good,” he flicks her nose, “because you’re a handful.”

She relaxes her arm and props herself up on her elbow, giving him an unobstructed view of her tits. “What do you want? From me?”

“That’s a loaded question.”

“Indulge me,” she says.

He knows what he wants but he spends a few minutes pretend to be thinking.

“I want you by my side all the time,” he starts. “I want you to get mad at me for not doing the laundry. I want to listen to you gossip like an old hag. I want to get jealous when men looks at you.”

She beams, hiding her face into his shoulder and pressing a kiss on his skin. “I can do those things.”

“I want to make you forget everything you’ve gone through.”

She seizes her movements and her body tightens next to him. He hears her swallow and he forces himself to go on, pushing her hair back from her shoulders.

“I want to be your best friend.”

She deflates like she’s used up all her energy and sighs. “I can’t give you that.”

“What about a kid?” he asks. There is no doubt she hears his heartbeat.

“That’s a tricky situation,” she murmurs and Sirius frowns.

“How so?”

“It’s a family curse,” she says after a pause. “Women die when they give birth to third child.”

His mind blanks, then he spins to her. “You don’t have two kids, do you?”

She blinks, brows knitted together in confusion before she bangs her head on his chest. “They die after third pregnancy ends in a result, to be exact. And your health deteriorates with each one.”

He doesn’t like that the odds. “You’re on birth control, right?” he asks, horrified, trying to sit up straight.

“Calm down,” she pushes him back. “I had my womb taken out years ago just for this reason.”

He waits until the blood leaves his ears and his breathing gets stable before he speaks. “Merlin, that is one of the ugliest curses I’ve ever heard. Is that why…”

He shuts his mouth with a click but it’s already out.

“Yeah, my mother died after Felix was born,” she says, but she doesn’t seem upset. “She was just as mad as about the family line as father was. She knew what was going to happen.”

He sighs, feeling like he’s aged a decade again. “Is that why they waited so long for Felix?”

“Most certainly. I don’t know if they would’ve gotten a third kid if I was a boy,” she says, letting out a laugh from his nose. “Felix was the spare, essentially.”

The word causes his stomach to drop, and reminds him of few other things.

“How come I’ve never heard of this? Mother never would’ve allowed me to marry you if she knew.”

She shrugs, her mouth curving into a smirk. “Maybe she would’ve. Two is not a bad number.”

He shakes his head vehemently. “That’s too risky. You should’ve told me about it,” he glares at her. “We would’ve been more careful.”

“I was careful,” she objects but her gaze shifts sideways.

“Even Regulus knew you weren’t careful.”

“Oh, shut up,” she slaps his arm, “we can always get an adoption.”

“Right,” he says, his mind wheeling.

A silence falls over the room and her voice breaks it after a while, alarmed. “Not anytime soon, though.”

He suppresses his laugh and hums noncommittally.

“I mean it, Sirius,” she hisses, “I will not bring a baby into this horrid house.”

He doesn’t answer and she shakes him, breaking a bone in the process or two. “Say it out loud, Sirius Black. No babies until we leave this house for forever.”

He knows she won’t stop nagging him until she gets those words out of his mouth, so he gives her what she wants, getting what he had wanted for more than two decades.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have any questions or spotted inaccuracies do let me know! I’ve been told I sometimes forget I’m the only one who knows the characters as well as I do. 
> 
> Hope you liked it!


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a direct continuation of chapter 10.

**Sixth Year**

Barty catches up with her at the common room, Regulus’ bag on his back. She laughs at the dismayed expression on his face when she kicks the bag he put on the floor.

“Cut him some slack,” Barty glowers at her, towering over her like Azrael. She throws a scrunched up paper at his face. He catches it in the air.

“I did,” she says, dodging the paper when he throws it back.

“I hate it when you play dumb,” he scoffs, lying down next to her, putting his head on her lap. “Play with my hair,” he orders.

Her fingers tangle in his hair, scratching at his scalp lightly and he looks up at her curiously. “How did you make up with Black?”

She smiles lightly, “He cornered me in a classroom and snogged me.”

He sniggers, “You wish.”

She swats at his forehead, ceasing to play with his hair. “Well, he did corner me in a classroom and we talked.”

Barty’s eyebrows shot up, “I can’t believe it went well, considering all these pent up sexual frustration.”

“I thought we established you don’t know shit about emotions.”

Barty waves his hand dismissively, “I still say he was having performance anxiety.”

“Focus on your love life instead of nosing into mine,” Lydia warns him, clutching his hair tightly until he hisses. He tries to unlock her fingers, biting down at her knee hard when she doesn’t let go. She shrieks, letting go of his hair instantly, and they both jump back, panting.

“You need to learn self control,” Barty says through his teeth, patting his head tentatively. “If you did, Black would be kissing the earth you walked on right now.”

“There’s just something about you that makes me want to fight,” she says bitchily, rubbing her knee, grimacing as her hand comes up with saliva on it.

“There’s something _in you_ that wants to fight all the time,” he shots back, cautiously taking his seat back. She follows his cue, sitting down with a safe space between them.

“I’ll take these back to Regulus,” she murmurs when the silence stretches out for too long.

He looks at her suspiciously, and she rolls her eyes. “I’m going to talk to him, that’s all.”

“Is it really the time? I’m sure he’s still fuming.”

Lydia shrugs, “He can get over it. Jealous bitch.”

Barty laughs delightedly, suddenly moving into her space, his eager face inches away from hers. “I did not know he had the capacity to get angry in public.”

She tosses her head back, grinning widely.

Her grin dies out soon enough. She sighs, glancing back at Barty, who is watching her with kind eyes. “I should get these back to him now, right?”

“He’d definitely appreciate it.”

She groans, feeling like her bones are weighing her down. A conversation with one Black is enough to drain a person for three days, now she has to go through another one.

She makes up half a dozen conversation starters as she finds her way to Slytherin dungeons, but every single one of them seems certain to end in a fight. She considers turning back and leaving this task to Barty but the sad look she saw for a second on Regulus’ face as he stared at them prevents her from bailing.

When she arrives at Slytherin dorms, she beckons a girl who looks thirteen at most. “Fetch Regulus Black for me, alright?”

The girl looks uncertain, and she quashes an eyeroll. “Flitwick sent these from his classroom,” she holds up the bag and the girl unenthusiastically nods, whispering the passcode so she doesn’t hear.

The girl comes back in ten minutes, “He’s not here now and his dorm mates said he hasn’t come back after breakfast today.”

She smiles at the girl, but the girl doesn’t wait to hear her thanks. “Bitch,” she mumbles under her breath.

She perches in front of a window, which doesn’t actually offer a view from outdoors, such a contrast from the towers of Ravenclaw dorms. She casts a warming charm over herself and ignores the attention she gets.

She had been dozing off when she was startled by familiar voices. The talking stops short when they spot her. She looks at the group, bile coming up in her throat but she keeps her face blank.

Evan has his hand up to shut them up and Avery, Mulciber and Fawley look up at him in apprehension, looking for signs for the acceptable way to treat her.

She nods at Evan politely because she knows by now the most reliable way to stay out of their business is to be as inoffensive as possible. She can get away with being distant but not with outright hostility.

Her eyes turn to Regulus who looks as composed as ever and she pats his bags, suddenly self conscious of all of their eyes on her. “Can I talk to you?” she grits out, feeling like she’s walking all over her pride.

At least, Regulus nods quickly and makes his way to her. “I’ll see you guys later,” he says.

Avery walks towards them and her heart starts to beat anxiously. She almost takes off running but she keeps still. “I can take those back,” he says.

“Thanks,” Regulus murmurs, handing his bag. They watch as his friends enter their dorms, but Regulus stays standing in front of her, his back turned towards her even after they’re long gone.

“Shall we go somewhere else?” she breaks the silence, her voice steadier than she feels.

Regulus nods, kicking the floor with the toe of his boots, his hands in his pockets. He doesn’t make a move or say anything. Lydia stifles a sigh.

“Regulus, look at me,” she orders, almost sternly.

His head tilts up painfully slowly and she has to restrain herself not to snap at him. 

When he finally looks at her, his face is blank and she once again has to remind herself he is not the emotionless shell he pretends to be. She waits for him to say something but when it doesn’t come, she lets out an exasperated laugh, throwing her hands in the air. “I can’t do this one-sided. If you’re not going to contribute I’m going to leave.”

She really expects him to say something at that point but he stays frozen like a statue, and annoyance fills her to the brim. She actually understands why Sirius finds it so hard to get through his brother sometimes.

She purses her lips in disappointment, a lump forming in her throat that she has to swallow around it. She nods, almost to herself and slides down, her butt numb from sitting down for too long, waiting to talk to him. She walks past him silently, careful not to touch him but his hand suddenly grabs her wrist, tugging her along as they climb the stairs, to a small corner, invisible unless you’re looking for it.

He throws some privacy spells to make sure they’re not being eavesdropped on. She leans back on the wall, tapping her foot on the floor.

Regulus looks at her expectantly, motioning her with his hand. “Well, what do you want to talk about?”

She carefully weighs her options and decides to go for the jugular. “You need to distance yourself from them.”

Regulus’ expression doesn’t change but his eyes immediately look colder. “Did Sirius ask you to say that?”

“He didn’t,” she says, trying not to show her indignation, “this is one hundred per cent my own opinion, if you can believe that.”

Regulus’ lips quiver, but it’s gone in a second. “You’ve made up with him,” he states the obvious, as if he’s trying to wrap his mind around it.

“Yes, that’s usually how most conflicts end,” she retorts, “with compromise.”

Regulus’ brows arch, a scornful huff leaves his mouth. “That’s really hard for me to believe. You see, the Sirius I know doesn’t compromise. He has to get his way.”

She clicks her tongue, shaking her head, helpless. “Have you even tried talking to him? Did you write to him?”

Regulus closes his eyes tight, taking a few deep breaths before he talks, forcedly calm. “He left, Lydia. He got up one day and decided we weren’t his family anymore. I’m not going to mope after him,” he tells her slowly, stressing each word as if she’s an idiot, “and I suggest you do the same.”

The shame spreads through her body and Regulus averts his eyes when he sees the way she reacts.

“And I suggest we stay on topic,” Lydia says after she pulls herself together. She walks closer to him, looking up to meet his eyes. “You need to stay away from them Reg,” she repeats, grabbing his arms to shake him gently, keeping her voice low just in case, “you know those guys are all thinking about joining him.”

Regulus meets her gaze steadily, and says, “I know that. I’m not some unwitting kid you need to save from your brother’s evil crutches.”

She releases her hold like she’s burned, and her hand goes up to her neck. Her carotid beats wildly against her hand.

“They’re murderers,” she whispers, her voice breaking in the end.

Regulus huffs impatiently, “Don’t be absurd, Lydia. You can’t believe everything you read on papers. They’re all run by mudblood lovers.”

She blows her breath. “People are dropping dead left and right, and they can’t find anything on their autopsy, _how convenient_ , and you’re telling me it’s a coincidence.”

“Merlin, Lyd,” he says with an arrogant tilt to his chin, “your father served him. Do you think he was a murderer? Sometimes I wonder if you’re truly as clueless as you pretend to be.”

She takes a step back, her back hitting the wall, her knees wobbly. Her hands finds the cool surface to ground herself. “I haven’t known him enough to comment on that and you know why?” she asks, hating the burn in her eyes. “Because he was never with us, busy serving him.”

“It’s better than serving this Ministry with their Muggle loving policies, isn’t it? I don’t think I’d be able to stomach it, having to answer to the likes of Dumbledore.”

“Will you be able to stomach it when he asks something you’re not comfortable with?” she snorts, “you don’t have to serve _anyone_ , not this Dark Lord, definitely not Dumbledore or the ministry.”

He examines her with pursed lips and in the end he sighs, rubbing his face. “I know how you are Lydia,” he says tiredly, “but this is far more important than enjoying Muggle fashion or their films. More important than trying to stay on the good side of a guy who’ll never treat you right. And you’ll have to take a stance sooner or later. You can’t go on walking on the fine line you’re toeing now.”

“Do you realise…” she starts, a hand over her mouth, “do you realise this is probably why Sirius left?”

“That’s a pretty cover,” Regulus says dismissively, “you don’t abandon your family because you have different political views.”

Lydia feels every drop of hope drain out of her body. “Alright,” she says with a small voice, “I don’t want to argue anymore. I hope you’re right, and he is this grand political leader you’re believing him to be. But Regulus,” she pauses, fixing her gaze on her shoes, “if you join him and you turn out to be wrong, it’ll burn a lot of bridges.”

She hears Regulus inhale sharply before he bluntly declares, “Duly noted.”

She waits for him to say something else but he doesn’t. It cuts deeper than she thought possible, carving out a big chunk of her flesh. She almost regrets ever having this conversation, for it is a lot easier to be angry and resentful than being hurt. She also knows she would never have forgiven herself if she didn’t do this.

She turns to leave, and this time Regulus doesn’t stop her.

But he calls out when she's a few steps away. “Lydia!”

She stops short, angling her head towards him to show she’s listening. He pauses, and the silence stretches painfully. “Nothing,” he says, “just -take care.”

She nods and walks away fast, rubbing at her face furiously to wipe the tears away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really fond of Teenage Barty. I don't even know why for sure, but probably because I'm feeling sad for his present self. 
> 
> Hope you liked the chapter!


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double update!
> 
> TW: suicide (Not lydia or sirius)

THREE MONTHS LATER

“Sirius, I hate this room,” Lydia informs him, when she is sure she can’t bear it anymore.

“Do whatever you want,” he replies, without looking up.

She beams and wraps her arms around his neck to press a kiss on his stubbled cheek. “Thank you, love.”

He sets aside the newspaper and gives her an amused look. “It’s so easy to please you.

“No,” she objects, with a smile playing on her mouth, “it’s just that you know all the-“

“Can I get you a ring?” Sirius cuts her off with a distracted expression on his face.

Lydia is completely taken aback and confused for a moment. “Depends on the ring.”

“Well, I have one left from my great-aunt-“

Lydia bites into his shoulder, making him yelp in surprise. He pushes her away, trying to look serious.

“Don’t you know it’s bad to bite people?”

“We say that to dogs, love, not humans.”

Sirius groans in exasperation as her laughter fills the room. “You’re like those brats who act spoiled because they know they’re loved.”

“If you’ve got something to say, say it,” she swats at his shoulder. She waits for a few seconds, then rolls her eyes, thinking he won’t say it just to spite her.

“I want to marry you,” Sirius says, looking more serious than she ever saw him.

They talk about marrying all the time but this time there is a weight on the words. “Why?”

“Because I’ve already bought the ring.”

“Fuck off,” she says, turning her face to hide her grin, but allows him to pull her by her shoulders to make her lay on his thighs, his hands playing with her hair. She’s already on the brink of falling asleep, but she startles when Sirius’ voice breaks the silence.

“Because I want to be able to tell you I love you without feeling like I’m drowning,” he whispers after a while, his finger tracing her nose, “I want to be easy as breathing.”

It doesn’t make sense, what he says. Her breath is stuck in her throat and she chokes out, “ Is breathing easy?”

He bites into his lips and flicks her earrings. “It’s easier when you’re here.”

“The key is to open the windows every once in a while, love.”

“I’ll open the windows every single day if you marry me.”

“Fair enough,” she pretends to think it over. “Let me see it. I’ll inform you of my decision.”

“It’s still being prepared,” he murmurs, averting his eyes.

“Did you propose to me without a ring?” she giggles, poking him in the stomach. “How do I know it’s not made from some cheap material?”

“I knew you wouldn’t marry me if i was poor but that’s just rubbing it in my face.”

“Of course I wouldn’t. I’m not even allowed to speak with men who have less than a hundred thousand galleons in his vault.”

“Who even has that much money?”

“Oh, you do. Around a hundred and twenty thousand.”

“How do you know that?” He asks, resigned.

“Your mum kept me up to date.”

Sirius stares at him blankly. “I don’t know if you’re having me on.”

“I’m not,” she laughs, “Grandma wasn’t impressed, since we were richer. Threatened your mum that she’d marry me to Lucius Malfoy if she didn't fix it.”

“It’s not funny,” Sirius basically growls. “You are not making these jokes in front of anyone else, right?”

“It’s all for you baby.”

“Good. Some things should stay between us.”

“Especially my lame jokes,” she mumbles, as her breathing gets deeper, and she forces herself to open her eyes to look at him.

“I’m hoping they’re jokes.”

Lydia lets out a soft laugh, her lids dropping when Sirius’ fingers caress her arm lightly.

***

“We caught Barty.”

“What?” Sirius’ fingers tighten on her shoulder before he releases it. Silence follows after Remus drops the bomb and Lydia keeps her still and her breathing deep as her heart beats wildly in her chest.

“I just wanted to make sure she was sleeping,” Remus says. Lydia can imagine him rubbing his neck and she wants to get up to kick him in the face but remains as she is.

“Fucking hell, Remus,” Sirius huffs. “What happened?”

“I’m coming from meeting with Dumledore,” he sighs, “He thinks we should try someone else to teach Harry Occlumency.”

“Oh,” Sirius sighs, “That’s it? Okay, I’ll talk to her. She’s getting frustrated too.” He pauses. “Is that all? If so, not worth giving me a heart attack, mate.”

“You’re not going to get a heart attack, Sirius,” Remus responds exasperatedly. “Lydia worries too much.”

Lydia feels Sirius shift under her, his hand resting on her stomach. ”What else?”

“Oh.” Lydia hears Remus slap his hand to his own skin, and her stomach twists in anticipation. “They’re done with the Horcruxes. Elaine is leaving tonight. Wanted me to ask Lydia to meet her at her house.”

“Why didn’t you say this first?” Sirius hisses and Lydia almost gets up to show her agreement.

“It’s quite rare to catch you without her these days, Padfoot. I needed to talk to you about the lessons. Dumbledore is worried.”

“Alright, I’ll talk to her when she wakes up,” Sirius assures him. He adds, after a pause, “About both subjects, I swear.”

Remus gets up, agonisingly slow and walks out of the room, his steps getting quieter with each second.

“Stop pretending.”

Lydia’s eyes fly open and she sits up. “Bloody hell, I’m going to kill him,” she declares, not at all embarrassed about being caught eavesdropping.

“You can’t,” Sirius says calmly.

“I can, it’s just two words,” she holds her wand, about to show him the motion when he grabs her wrist.

“It’s illegal,” he presses a kiss on her hand. “Go, don’t keep Elaine waiting.”

****

Her grandma makes her wait more than an hour because of her appointment at the hairdresser, making her more impatient with each ticking second.

It’s an agreement between them not to talk about work -Horcruxes- when they meet but they make an exception.

“Where did you find the diadem?” She asks, causing her grandma to roll her eyes.

“I’ve no idea. That was Dumbledore’s doing.”

“You didn’t ask?”

“I wasn’t interested, Lydia,” she pats her cheeks, her rings cold against her skin.

“There are no others left?” she presses.

“The snake,” she murmurs as she feels Lydia’s shirt and frowns. “This is bad quality, get rid of it.”

She pushes her hand away gently. “We cannot kill the snake until we face him.”

Her grandma's eyes flash. “There are no ‘we’, Lydia. Let Dumbledore worry about it.”

“I’d like you to try convincing Sirius,” she grumbles.

That gets an unimpressed glance. “You chose this.”

Lydia opens her mouth to jump into an explanation but Remus’ Patronus appears, his voice booming in the room.

“Voldemort down. Death Eaters on the loose. Everyone back to Headquarters.”

Her grandma grabs her by the wrist and apparates them into Grimmauld Place before the patronus vanishes into thin air.

Headquarters -her home for the last three months- is filled to its capacity with every single Order member she knows and doesn’t know about. She pushes people away, trying to find Sirius in that chaos, ignoring the others who are trying to talk to her.

When she spots him near the kitchen she runs up to him, almost knocking Harry on her way to hug him. He lets out a breathless laugh and kisses her on her forehead but Lydia’s not having it and she grabs his face and presses their lips together, almost choking him with the arms around his neck.

They separate when Harry shrieks in indignation next to them. She turns to him and asks, “Do you want me to obliviate you?”

“Please,” Harry grits out.

“What happened?” she asks after giving him a grin, “Is he dead?”

Sirius sighs, “Come on, let’s head upstairs, I’ll tell you there.”

They walk upstairs, almost getting separated by people milling around but they manage to shoo the two teenagers snogging out of their room, the nerve on them, and Sirius has to stop her from tearing them to pieces, and close the door behind them.

“Sit,” he manoeuvres her to the bed and settles next to her before he starts explaining. 

“He is dead but most of his Death Eaters are on the loose and we’re worried they’re going to lash out.”

“Like last time.”

“Exactly,” he confirms. “We got word that Harry and his friends went to the Department of Mysteries to save me.”

Lydia’s heart squeezes in her chest. “Is it what I think it is?”

He sighs and nods.

“It’s my fault,” she mumbles. She failed to teach Harry and everyone, Sirius, Sirius, Sirius was in danger because of that.

He huffs and grabs her by the chin. “That’s exactly what Harry’s saying now. I’m sick to death of hearing that. Alright?”

She nods as if in daze.

“Voldemort showed him an image of me getting tortured and Harry immediately fire called here but I was busy with the library and you were gone to meet Elaine…”

“Didn’t Kreacher tell him?”

The silence that follows is telling.

“He did not,” she whispers.

His jaw clenches, “He kept talking about Regulus’ locket when we questioned him.”

Lydia’s hand goes to her mouth and motions him to go on.

“When we arrived Harry was lying there, and I was there, next to Voldemort,” he says, starting to shake. “It was Bellatrix. Polyjuice. Neville told me Voldemort told Harry to step forward for my life and he did, just a few minutes before we came,” he says, voice cracking at the end and Lydia moves closer, wrapping her arm around his waist, his head falling to her shoulder.

She wonders which spell the Dark Lord used on Harry and if it’ll have any permanent effects. But Sirius doesn’t seem too worried and Lydia pushes the thought away.

He continues, his voice coming deeper with emotion, muffled by her shoulder. “We were trying to get the other kids out when Dumbledore came.”

He stops and lifts his head to stare at her. “They duelled. It was going fairly equal, but Harry woke up,” he says, his voice going high, “He woke up from an Avada Kedavra.”

Lydia frowns, her mind whirling for an explanation. “How?”

He shrugs, “We don’t have any idea. Dumbledore didn’t look surprised in the slightest but…”

“What?” She asks with impending horror.

He swallows. “Voldemort lost the control of his Fiendyfyre when Harry got to his feet. He lost it even further when Nagini got swallowed by it but Harry came out unscathed. Dumbledore was trying to get it under control…”

“Who?” she asks, barely aware that she’d reduced to single words.

“We don’t know,” his grip turns painful on her hand but she doesn’t take it back. “Moody got him then though.”

Lydia’s heart skips a beat, and she smiles, a little bit sad, more than a little bitter. “No one expects an Avada Kedavra from Moody.”

“No,” Sirius confirms, then straightens like he remembered something. “We caught Barty,” Sirius says and Lydia rolls her eyes.

“No,” he stops her in her tracks, “we really did. Moody’s got him in the cellar since he escaped the other safehouse last time.”

Lydia’s jaw drops and she blinks a few times. “I’ll be downstairs,” she declares.

****  
Sirius sighs as he watches Lydia run down the stairs, and gives a sniff to his shirt. He can afford to have a shower, since there is not a chance Moody won’t let her see him yet, before they are sure about the spells.

He is stopped by the knock on the door. He considers not replying but decides to get it over with, whoever it is.

“Come in,” he calls and Elaine opens the door, looking slightly grossed out.

“This house has turned into a circus,” is the first thing she says to him. Sirius bites into his cheek. He will not argue with Lydia’s grandmother, not today.

“It’s not always like this.”

“I should hope so.”

Oh, but she makes it so hard. 

“Clean up this mess before she sees it,” she motions the room, as if Lydia hasn’t been here two seconds ago. “Don’t want to listen to her complain about your messiness.”

“Does that happen a lot?” he asks despite himself.

“Yes and I thought she was exaggerating,” she pushes his cloak away with her foot, settling on a chair. “You’ll need to learn to be organised if you two are staying together, especially now that you don’t have a house elf.”

Ah, Sirius thinks, there it is.

She takes a look at his face and lets out a laugh. “I’ve always liked you Sirius,” she says, igniting a flash of anger and disbelief in him. She raises her hand when she sees him bristling.

Her eyes go misty and she fixes her gaze over his head. “You helped her to become more grounded, and she looked up to you,” she says, a smile crossing her face. “She was the reason we met so often. She’d nag me to take her to you. She cried the days you didn’t talk to her.”

“I didn’t know that,” he confesses and makes a mental note to ask Lydia about it.

“She was always too reckless,” she goes on. “You’ll say you’re not someone who can stop someone from acting rash but you are. You know what happened with Evan, right? Giving out her blood and making people swear on an unbreakable vow,” she huffs, like she’s still angry about it. He doesn’t know if it’s for Evan’s death or the vow. 

He nods, feeling like his chest is being pressed between invisible hands.

“She always held herself in check to not scare you off,” she huffs, turning her sharp gaze on Sirius. “Now that you’ve brought that boy here and she’s going to lose it.”

“That wasn’t my choice.”

She clicks her tongue like she isn’t pleased with his answer. “Your lot acts like this ghastly house is the only safehouse on the continent. Well, when you’re done with this I can sell this to some Muggleborn and let Narcissa go crazy. She’d been looking into ways to buy this place,” she murmurs, her eyes traveling the room like she’s already calculating for how much she can get.

He clears his throat to get her attention.

She jumps a little, shaking her head before she goes back to her point. “He was too smart for his own good and they had too much pleasure in their little circle. His father brought the worst in him and he started to affect Lydia,” she closes her eyes like she’s remembering something. “He scared me after they graduated because that’s who she would've become if she didn’t have the support she did. You helped. I helped. Felix helped. I’m terrified now that he’s back. I just saw her running downstairs to see him. Lydia worries about him, but she fails to see how alike they are.”

Sirius makes a protesting sound but she stops her with a single glance. “My Lydia never sees what she doesn’t want to see,” she says, with a sarcastic smile on her face. “Will you be able to be compassionate with her this time and hold her hand as she finds her way instead of trying to force her wherever you want her to go?”

Sirius doesn’t answer because he’d been asking himself the same thing.

She sees the answer and heaves a deep breath. “Go make sure she doesn’t do something she can’t take back.”

***  
“Where were you?” Lydia snaps at him when he opens the door, glowering and pacing back and forth. 

“Elaine cornered me.”

Lydia’s eyes widen, her arms falling to her sides. “What did she say?” she says, with a hysteric edge to her voice.

He decides to tell her the least dangerous thing. “She told me you had a crush on me from the start.”

Her shoulders relax and she chuckles. “Yes. Well, it could have said that I manipulated you Into taking interest in me.”

He pushes her hair away from her face and holds it up, meeting her eyes. “I was interested in you from the start.”

Her face lightens up in pleasure and she tilts her to the side, waiting for an explanation.

“I loved looking at your eyes,” he says, grazing his lips against her cheekbone, then the corner of her eye.

Her eyes flutter shut, a smile stretching her lips before she freezes. “Everyone in my family has my eyes, Sirius,” she says with a hint of warning in her tone.

“Yes,” he whispers into her ear, pulling her closer by the shoulders and enjoying the flush that spreads to her cheeks. “But only yours make me lose my breath.”

“If you two are done flirting,” Moody says, out of nowhere, making them jump and take a step back away from each other. “You can come in.”

****  
“That was something,” Crouch says the second they come in. Lydia throws him an unreadable look and panic settles in his chest, remembering Elaine’s words.

She settles on one of the chairs across him, crossing her legs and glaring at Barty.

“Caught and prisoned,” she says, her voice uncharacteristically cold.

Crouch is unbothered, though. “You are right, for once. I count this one as failure too.”

Sirius is confused about what they’re talking about but he’s learned there’s no point in trying to follow their conversations and just takes the seat next to Lydia, his knee digging into her thigh to remind her he’s there.

Crouch’s eyes turn to their proximity for one second but they all notice it and he knows it. A smirk appears.

“We were next to each other for 398 days, did he tell you that, Lyd?”

“He did,” she says.

He didn’t.

Barty raises his eyebrows mockingly and leans forwards, his voice taking on a conspiratorial tone. “Everyday we’d talk for three minutes. Except for that three days when he refused to talk because I dared to mention your name, Lydia. He is a bit tad too dramatic if you ask me, love. Are you sure about your choices?”

Fury burns hot inside him, his leg twitching but Lydia’s hand settles on her knee.

“We learned so much about each other,” he turns to Sirius when Lydia doesn’t fall to his bait.

“Then you died.”

“Ah. Yes, yes,” he says, “I apologise about that. Leaving you without a proper goodbye and all that. You helped me keep my wits about me.”

Sirius wonders if this is how he looks to other people.

“I should've guessed what was going on in your last days.”

Barty stares at him, daring him to voice what he’s thinking but he doesn’t need to worry because he has no intention of telling anyone how his mother died in his place, screaming in pain only for him to end up here.

“It was pretty far fetched, I don't think less of you for not figuring it out,” he says in the end, his voice too casual.

“Barty, let it go,” Lydia cuts their meaningless conversation, getting up to kneel in front of Crouch. He almost reaches to his wand when he holds her hand but refrains at the last second.

“I can’t,” he says, his voice losing the forced airiness, then he adds with a twisted smile, “I’ll go mad.”

Lydia’s breath hitches in her throat audibly and she squeezes his hand. “I won’t let it happen. I promise you.”

Barty stares at her for a moment before he demands, “Get out.”

Sirius is on his feet the second words leave his mouth and he pulls Lydia away from him, suddenly afraid that he’ll do something to her.

Sirius almost winces at the expression on her face but steers her unprotesting body away to close the door between them.

“You’re pushing it,” he says, his wand clutched tightly in his hand.

Crouch appraises him with lifeless eyes, and gives him a slightly unsettling smile. “I’ve seen what I’ve come to see.”

“What?”

He blows a laugh from his nose, his eyes closing in pleasure as if he’s just won the biggest fight of his life. “Ah, you’ve always been too slow, Sirius.”

He tilts his head and Sirius understands what he’s about to do-

“Lydia sold Evan out for you-“

-one second too late. 

“Silencio!”

Crouch falls backwards, taking the metal chair down with him, the sound echoing around the large room, almost, almost drowning out the sound of his last breaths, mingled with his laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you think about it ‘unbreakable vow = suicide pill’.
> 
> One chapter left <3


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double update! I didn't want to leave it at that point, especially when I had the ending written already.

They go to see the secret gems of Scandinavia first. Harry tags along at the beginning of the summer, and they go gradually to the south, until they get sick of sweating and getting sunburned. Lydia drags him to Canada and they stay there until Christmas break, when Lydia decides she’s done with travelling for a while and wants to redecorate Grimmauld Place.

He watches as Lydia turns his ghastly house into a proper house. She goes by each room, taking his mother’s portrait with her and they change every corner. He allows himself to let go of his bitterness and regrets because he’s decided they will never be moving out of this house. It was an abrupt decision but necessary. 

It was when Lydia told him she wants to adopt three boys, and that she’ll name them Evan, Regulus and Barty.

It’s not that the names cause jealousy in him anymore. It causes rage. He won’t be that person who sees another person when he looks at his children and he won’t let Lydia do that to herself either.

They get married in a small ceremony, in the reformed Grimmauld Place in front of his bawling mother’s portrait. After that, she takes it upon herself to plan Remus and Tonks’ wedding, then Bill and Fleur’s. She gets quite the reputation, and keeps busy with that until she gets bored.

She keeps expanding their zoo and gets into a fight with other residents of the street and proceeds to buy the houses from the ones that cause her the most trouble.

Her afternoons are ever changing, a deliberate chaos but her nights and mornings are always the same. She wakes up before him no matter when she goes to sleep and reads until he wakes up and they go downstairs to make their breakfast. She still has her ridiculously long skin care routine after her shower each night, and Sirius watches her every time. When he jokingly touches one of them, she slaps his hand away and says “They’re expensive.” 

  
And Sirius thinks  _ worthitworthitworthit _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This journey ends here... I'm feeling a little bit sad but I think it was the time. I hope I was able to create (if I'm lucky) a touching story and relatable, actual human characters.
> 
> I know the ending is rushed but I realized I wouldn’t ever finish this fic if I stuck to my original plan. I had been struggling writing this fic because I had the ending figured out and I felt like I was being forced to watch the same thing over and over again. I apologize for that but I decided it was preferable than leaving it as a WIP. I might come back one day and fix chapter 21 but it’s very, very unlikely.
> 
> I appreciate every single feedback you've given. They were precious to me and vital to me finishing this story. If you have any questions you can always reach me here or on tumblr. Love you all!

**Author's Note:**

> [pinterest board for this story](https://www.pinterest.co.uk/differentrains/hp-au/)   
>  [you can find me on tumblr](https://ladymacbethsarmy.tumblr.com/)


End file.
